


G, You Look Good to Me

by moon_crater, SynthApostate



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: All aboard the rarepair train choo choo, Angst, Canon-Typical Problematic Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Learning to read, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 70,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9222050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_crater/pseuds/moon_crater, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SynthApostate/pseuds/SynthApostate
Summary: Razz has a problem. O’Hanrahan is more than happy to help! Cheerfully, annoyingly happy to help. Whether Razz wants him to or not.





	1. ...A, you're adorable...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the kink meme (and [mirrored on the _new_ kink meme](https://newfalloutkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1168.html?thread=208784#cmt208784)!) The original [prompt](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/5646.html?thread=13899022#t13899022), edited/shortened for space:
> 
> _O'Hanrahan discovers that Razz is barely literate. Razz threatens with violence if he tells. O'Hanrahan says he won't, but it's only a matter of time until he's found out, or his life is put in danger by his low reading skill._
> 
> _So the kind, gentle guy offers to help. Razz refuses at first, but eventually ends up agreeing. He's not too keen on the idea of having to sit with O'Hanrahan and a book every night, but whatever._
> 
> _After a few weeks, they start caring for each other. O'Hanrahan because he's finally seeing Razz's soft side, Razz because O'Hanrahan is not treating him like a lost cause anymore. As time goes by, those feelings start getting more and more complicated, until they realize that they have fallen for each other._
> 
>  **Content Advisories** : The usual stuff in Fallout: violence, death, and language including misogynistic slurs. Razz is also kind of a jerk to begin with, O’Hanrahan’s got a clueless streak, and they don’t really start off as _friends_ per se, so the relationship is off to a rather rough start.
> 
>  **Notes** : Anyone looking for a long, fluffy gay love story set in the NCR? ‘Cause I apparently have one lying around. Where’d it come from? I don’t know. Where’s it going? *vague hand motions* How will I get there? On a chariot pulled by snails. You have been warned.

**Feb. 2, 2282**

Dear Ma,

I am jest writing to let you know I’m doing fine here in the army. I know it has been a long time since my last letter, but I have been real busy with training and all. I am stationed in Nevada now, and got put into a squad that did not do so hot at first. But then this real interesting courier person came by and gave us some pointers on how to shoot good, and, more important, how to work together in a team, and now we are fine.

My squad leader is Corporal Mags. She is real good at soldiering, only she does get mad when it comes up that one of us don’t know something we oughtta. But like I said, that is all going much better.

My other squadmates are Poindexter and Razz. Dex is real smart and means to set up in politics when he gets out of the army. I don’t know what Razz is aiming to do. He is sort of a rough fella and don’t have much to say to me, but I do not think he is so bad really. I am just thankful to you and Pa for bringing me up the way you did, or else I might get a temper too and try running off folks who was only trying to be friendly. Dex says I oughtta let him alone, but he’d let everything alone if we didn’t keep at him, and then we’d never finish up this war, not if we was all like that all the time. You can tell who in this army used to be a farmer, is all I can say.

Please tell your sewing circle I said thanks for all the nice warm socks. I guess the package didn’t arrive until I was shipped out after basic, so they have been chasing me all over the Mohave, but I finally got em. If you don’t mind it, I’ll give the extras to my squadmates. I don’t think any of them has a ma like you to worry they’ll take cold from getting wet feet. Ma, we are in a desert, but there is a lake here too, so I am careful.

I am sending home enough pay this month to cover Bell’s schooling, and Hex’s new shoes too. Tell that girl to get all the frills and furbelows she wants because these ain’t for working, they’re for stepping out in. She can wear my old shoes around the farm if she wants to. I will not be needing them since the army keeps us in good boot leather all year round.

Give my love to Pa and the girls.

Your son,

Private First Class (I got promoted!) O’Hanrahan

* * *

O’Hanrahan read over his letter one more time just to be sure he’d got it all right. He hadn’t seen nor spoken to his family since that recruiter fella had come to the farm all those months ago, but trading letters back and forth made him feel home wasn’t so far away, after all. Sure, it took the better part of two months for one to make its way through NCR post, but the wait was worth it, and the delay made the letter sweeter when it came. He sure hoped his folks felt the same.

Satisfied, he folded up the smudged sheets of paper and finally turned to Razz, who had been watching him for some time.

“All done. You can read it if you want. Ain’t no state secrets in here.”

“What? I don’t want to read your damn letter!” Razz snapped. It was hard to say if he was surprised, or mad, or what, with his wrap pulled up over most of his face. It wasn’t regulation to wear the armor that way except during a sandstorm, but Razz didn’t much care for regs anyhow.

“I wasn’t gonna hold you down and _make_ you,” O’Hanrahan said easily. “Just naturally thought you were curious, the way you been watchin’.”

“I wasn’t _watching_ you! Jesus fuck, O’Hanrahan.” That was real sacrilegious, but maybe Razz knew it, since he hunched up his shoulders in a way that hid a little more of his face behind his wrap, like he was embarrassed. His next words came out a little muffled. “Just surprised a guy like you knows how to read and write.”

“Oh, sure! My mama taught me my letters and figuring, and my little sister Annabell used to tell me all about the book-learning she got at the village school. I was too busy on the farm to go to school myself, but Bell has a head full of smarts. Woulda been a shame to let it go to waste. She’s going to You See North—the first O’Hanrahan to get herself college educated since the Great War,” he finished proudly. Of course, there wasn’t much opportunity for schooling until recent times, but Bell was still something special. And it was his earnings that helped pay her way.

“I don’t want to hear about your asshole family,” Razz grumbled.

“Then you oughtn’t to hang over my shoulder while I’m writin’ to ‘em.”

“I wasn’t—oh, forget it!” Razz threw up his hands in disgust and turned away, muttering. “It’s not like there’s anything _else_ to do.”

He could hardly argue that. O’Hanrahan tucked the letter inside his uniform and looked out toward the darkening horizon.

The sun would be gone soon, but even in daylight there wasn’t much occupy a man on watch. O’Hanrahan picked away at letters sometimes, a few sentences at a time, and some of the other fellas looked at girlie magazines or played cards while the superior officers weren’t around to bust ‘em for it, but he’d never seen Razz do much other than smoke. Boy howdy did he smoke, like a missile crater. Sometimes he dozed. Shoot, sometimes he did both at the same time, and O’Hanrahan had to pluck the cigarette out of his mouth so he wouldn’t set his fool self on fire.

O’Hanrahan never smoked, himself. Little Baby Jesus didn’t like it. He did have some magazines, mostly Lad’s Life. Maybe he could bring one with him next time he had to stand watch, reread that article about campfire safety and hope Razz didn’t drop a cigarette on it. That right there would be irony.

Like he'd been eavesdropping on his thoughts, Razz rifled around in his pockets to find his half crushed package of Big Bosses. He pulled down his face wrap, tugged out a mangled cigarette, struck a match, and sucked in enough air through the thing that he should have floated away. The cloud struck O’Hanrahan in the face like a fist when he exhaled. He waved it away.

“You sure do like them things,” O’Hanrahan said with a half-frown. Razz inhaled again, spitefully, and coughed. “But they don’t seem to like you none.”

“Didn’t ask ‘em to _like_ me,” Razz muttered. Well, he didn’t seem willing to ask most anything to like him, but that didn’t mean O’Hanrahan couldn’t make the effort.

“Listen, I know there ain’t much to do on watch, here, but if you’re bored—Don’t you have nobody to write home to?”

“No.” He took another deep pull on the cigarette and turned his eyes to the setting sun. Looked like that was all he had to say about that.

“You could bring a book,” O’Hanrahan suggested, and Razz actually laughed—the first time O’Hanrahan had ever heard him do it.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“Or a magazine, or something,” O’Hanrahan pressed. He knew it wasn’t such a terrible idea. “I’d lend you one,” he offered.

Razz yanked his wrap back up over his face. He never left it down too long. Hated people looking at him, especially if they said he had a babyface—O’Hanrahan had learned his lesson about that the hard way.

When that was all settled, he said, thoughtfully, “Are you hoping I’ll trade my smokes for it? ‘Cause that ain’t gonna happen.”

“I said lend. Not trade.”

Razz grunted. “I don’t want your stupid hick books.”

“All right, Razz.” He leaned forward, trying to see if there was anything moving out there that needed his attention. There wasn’t. Never was. The squad was doing better, but the higher-ups still didn’t trust them with any important duties. They’d have to earn their way up to that.

“Don’t you ever get pissed off about anything?” Razz asked. “’All right, Razz. You can call me a hick. That’s just fiiiiine.’” He drew it out into a whine, and of course O’Hanrahan knew the fella was just trying to get his goat, so he didn’t take the bait.

“I try not to let my temper get the best of me—and I reckon I am a hick.”

Razz went quiet at that, but it was an uneasy, heavy kind of quiet. Like he wanted to say something but his mouth couldn’t figure on what words to make. O’Hanrahan let the silence hang there in the smoke and night air. He’d talk when he wanted, if he wanted. No sense poking a cazador nest. 

To pass the time, O’Hanrahan checked his gun. They’d run laps today around the lake, and done some drills, so there was a spot of grime along the barrel. As his uniform was a mite too big, he rolled down the sleeve, tugged it over his hand and used it like a rag, carefully cleaning off the dirt and oil. Requisition never did have anything in just the right size for anyone. A guy with his frame had to make do with something too big for his height and too small for his muscles. At least the too-long sleeves had their uses.

They sat there like that for a long time as the twilight closed in, Razz smoking, still turning over unspoken words in his head, and him shining up his gun.

“How d’you do it?” Razz said finally.

“Hmm?” he said without looking up.

“Keep your temper.”

“Oh, well shoot, that’s easy. I just think about my family.”

“That shit again.” Razz rolled his eyes.

O’Hanrahan let that slide right off him. “If family don’t work, you could think of a whole mess of puppies. Cute little rascals with them wet noses and little yips.” 

“Oh my fuckin’ god.”

“And if puppies don’t work—”

“Forget I asked!”

O’Hanrahan smiled a little, but all he said was, “Ever seen a bunny rabbit?”

* * *

Dear Hoss, 

How is the army? We ain’t heard from you in a while, and I am wondering because I am thinking of joining up. Ma says no, and Pa says HELL NO, and Ma made him sleep in the barn with the dogs for cussin up and down so, but I am still thinking about it.

I know I am only 17, and I know you will be upset with me for asking, but I hate farming and you know I ain’t bright like Bell. I don’t want to pull ~~vegi~~   ~~vegga~~ ~~veggiat~~ carrots out the dirt with a mess of mewling kids hanging off me for ever. Please talk some since into both of them.

Hope you are doing good and not getting your head blowed off. Love,

Hex

* * *

Well, that required some thinking. O’Hanrahan’s baby sister was a tough little gal—and not so little anymore. But he’d joined the army so she could stay safe at home, not so she’d follow him out and have to learn to shoot a rifle and maybe see real fighting when the Legion came knocking.

Might be he needed some advice.

O’Hanrahan glanced over the letter, from top to bottom and back again. No date. There was no telling how long ago it’d been written. Hex could have got this fool idea in her head months ago, where it would sit and stew until she got up the nerve to do something about it, and he’d never know until she showed up on his doorstep with a duffle full of his old overalls and a grin.

The best shot he had for stopping her was sending a letter of his own, but the courier who’d delivered hers was already long gone with the one he’d scrawled off to his Ma. It’d be weeks before another came along, and the mail already took its sweet time traveling from place to place, with army couriers getting robbed or kidnapped or outright murdered on their routes.

He frowned. Hex could pick up and run away by then if she really wanted to. If she hadn’t already.

“What’s the matter, farm boy,” Razz muttered from where he lay on his bunk, flipping through a magazine, “bad news from home? Did all those puppies eat your family?”

“Shoot, that _would_ be a disaster.” He ignored Razz’s frustrated groan when he still refused to get mad. “No, this here’s just a calamity.”

“What’s the difference?” Razz asked, curious in spite of himself.

“The number of sisters involved. Say, do you s’pose you could take a look at this for me?” He held the letter out for his bunkmate to take, but Razz barely glanced at it.

“What the fuck are you asking _me_ for?”

“Well, I can’t take this to Mags.” As hard as she’d worked to get where she was in the army, it’d just hurt her feelings to know he had doubts about letting his own sister join up. “And if I let Dex read my letters, he’d make fun of the writing.”

“What, you don’t think I’d make fun of you? Jesus, I didn’t think I was playing into your peace and friendship crap _that_ much.”

“Naw, don’t worry. I know you’d make fun of me. But at least you wouldn’t use all them highfalutin’ words I don’t half understand.”

“You calling me stupid, you—“

“Razz, think of the puppies.”

He snapped his mouth shut—O’Hanrahan could only tell by the click of his teeth—and his eyes rolled so hard in his head they should have left it. “You want my advice for dealing with letters you don’t like? Beat up the mailman.”

“I’d have to catch him first,” O’Hanrahan murmured with a thoughtful frown. It gradually bloomed into a smile. “Saaay, that is an idea.”

Razz stared at him like he’d grown another head, the magazine forgotten lying face down on his chest. 

“The catchin’ him part, not the beatin’ the tar out of him part,” O’Hanrahan clarified. “He probably ain’t too far from the base, yet, right?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Ain’t no call to get hot under the collar, buddy. It was your idea.” O’Hanrahan started pulling his boots on—his first day of leave in a week and here he was putting the darn things back on already.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“I got me a mailman to catch.” He pulled the laces tight, tied the bunny ears on each boot just like he’d been doing since he was knee high to a radroach, and got to his feet. “You’re welcome to tag along, if you can mind your language.”

“Oooh, yeah, I’m gonna have to give that _shit_ a hard _fuckin’_ pass.” Razz went back to his magazine.

O’Hanrahan shook his head, picked up his BDU blouse and slung it over his shoulder. “You make it real tough to like you sometimes, Razz.”

“Good.” Razz flipped another page, too fast to have done more than look at the pictures of the last one. “I don’t want to be liked.”

With a sigh, O’Hanrahan pushed the tent flap open. He paused in the opening, and glanced back over his shoulder. “You afraid somebody might?”

Razz looked at him. Then he raised up the magazine to cover the rest of his face. He wasn’t fixing to say anything else, so O’Hanrahan went on out.

Outside the tent, the air held the promise of February crispness, but the Mojave certainty that such promise would never be fulfilled. Not in the daytime, anyway. Pre-war records said it used to get cold enough to snow sometimes, even when the sun was out, but O’Hanrahan had his doubts about that. He’d never seen a day under fifty degrees. This could be a real nice time to stretch his legs, though, and enjoy the fresh air some. 

There was a scuffling off behind him before he could get more than a few steps away, sounds of things being shoved around and a magazine tossed to the floor. Then the tent flap twitched open and Razz stomped out with one boot on, the other dangling from his hand by the laces.

“What the fuck was _that_ supposed to mean? ‘ _You afraid somebody might._ ’” He gave the boot a shake for emphasis. “You think I’m scared of you? What the fuck do I have to be afraid of?” 

O’Hanrahan glanced down at Razz’s bare foot. That reminded him, he still had all those extra socks he’d been meaning to give away.

“Say, Razz, what’s your favorite color?”

“I— _what_? I dunno, red? I guess?”

Red, huh? Well, there were a couple pairs of red and yellow striped. Maybe that would do. O’Hanrahan nodded, then looked at the boot in Razz’s hand and nodded at that. “You gonna put that on?”

“I’m workin’ on it!” Razz dropped the boot, shoved his foot inside and tromped toward his squadmate. He didn’t bother to tie the laces. O’Hanrahan frowned at that, but Razz fixed him with a steely glare and spat, “Shut the fuck up.” 

“You coming with me?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“No! And I’m not scared of shit, you got that?”

“Then you’re not scared to come along?”

“I—uh—” He sputtered a little, helplessly. “Fuck you! Fine, I’ll come!”

“Well, it’s nice of you to offer,” O’Hanrahan said, grinning. “I’d sure be glad of the company.”

“ _Ugh._ ”

* * *

Dear Hex,

Will write you a longer letter soon as I can. DO NOT JOIN UP UNTIL WE TALK. Ma and Pa would be in a real tight spot without you. And you know how they worry. I promise we will talk this out somehow, only just be patient.

All my love,

Hoss

* * *

“How can you write and walk at the same time?” Razz asked. O’Hanrahan took a look at his finished letter.

“It did come out a mite crooked, but I s’pose she’ll still be able to read it.”

“No, I mean—you’re not even looking where you’re going.”

“Well, shoot, you’re here, ain’t you? You wouldn’t let me fall in a hole.”

“I would be _more_ than happy to see you fall down a hole,” Razz snapped.

O’Hanrahan fixed his mind on a whole basket of puppies, real cute ones with little wrinkled-up noses like the kind he and Hex tried to raise when they were kids, before they found out no one would buy a pug for a guard dog.

Smiling, he tucked his letter and his pencil into his pocket, and they tramped on in silence for a while.

Without the writing to slow him down, O’Hanrahan fell into his own natural long-legged stride, which was one of the few things that had kept him from washing out of the army right from the beginning. He liked to go for long walks in the sunshine. 

But it wasn’t like that for everyone. Before too long, Razz was out of breath and struggling to keep up. But he wouldn’t say anything about it, of course.

“I was just jokin’ around with you before,” O’Hanrahan said after a while. “You didn’t have to come along with me.”

“It was either this or stay in that damn tent for the rest of my life. Don’t know why they bother giving us leave. Not like we can get anywhere from the ass end of nowhere.”

“Well, I figure we could make it to New Vegas in a day,” O’Hanrahan suggested.

“Maybe _you_ could. You’re not human.”

“I could carry you,” he offered.

“Oh, fuck you!”

Whoops. He hadn’t meant it to hurt his feelings. Razz was no pushover, he knew, but he still needed to build up his stamina. And the fact was, O’Hanrahan could tote around a man Razz’s size if he wanted. Why, he couldn’t weigh much more than a fully loaded rucksack and armor.

Maybe he’d better keep his mouth shut about that, too. Razz couldn’t help being smaller than O’Hanrahan. Nobody could.

They kept walking. The trail was easy enough to follow. O’Hanrahan had gotten pretty friendly with the courier fellow—a corporal who’d been taken off combat duties after he’d lost a few fingers during heavy arms training—and he had a pretty good idea of the route.

He wanted to hurry and catch up, but round about noon, he slowed his pace out of consideration for the wheezing he heard coming from his companion. Far from showing any gratitude, Razz took advantage of the break to pull a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Then, with an irritated grunt, he put them away again unopened.

“You want to stop for a rest?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“No! Piss off!”

O’Hanrahan offered his canteen. Razz stared at it, huffed a little under his breath, and finally took it without a word.

When he’d had a good swig, he said grudgingly, “Okay, so thanks, I guess. That’s what you wanted to hear, right? Are you happy now?”

“I been happy this whole time. It’s nice to have a friend along.”

“Oh, Jesus!”

They pushed on, sharing the canteen and following a cliff face for what little shade they could find there, until a faint yell split the silence. A yell, and the _pop-pop-pop_ of gunfire not too far away.

“You hear that?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“Someone’s in deep shit,” Razz confirmed. “Might be your courier.”

“Well, then we gotta help him!” And not just because it was the right thing to do. Even in a noncombat role, the corporal was a member of the same army as them. It was their duty to give him fire support if they could.

“About goddamn time we saw some action,” said Razz. Just the thought of a fight seemed to give him a second wind. That was good for him, at least. O’Hanrahan wasn’t looking forward to having to hurt nobody, but they did have a job to do. He always had known he wouldn’t be able to avoid it forever.

They hoofed it up over the ridge toward the sound of the fighting, keeping to cover and concealment like they’d been taught. The enemy never saw them coming.

There were three of them, O’Hanrahan saw when they got up close enough, a gal and two fellas. They looked like raider gang types, in mismatched armor and brahmin-skull helmets, and they didn’t look to be too well-armed. One was holding a shotgun, but the other two just had a tire iron and a baseball bat.

The three of them surrounded a small cave where their prey had holed up. Judging by the occasional _pop-pop_ of a service revolver, he was still alive and healthy enough to hold them off, even if he couldn’t get a clear shot at any of them. And judging by the quantity of letters and packages strewn around the area, it had to be a courier in there. 

“I’ll take the one on the right,” O’Hanrahan said, naming the one with the shotgun. “Them others is yours if you want ‘em.”

“No!”

He didn’t hear Razz’s objection until after he’d taken his shot, and by then it was too late to back out. The raider fell—just clutching an arm and not dead, he was thankful to see—and the other two came running toward them, eager for a better fight than the courier was putting up. 

O’Hanrahan glanced at his partner, who was still crouched behind their rock, not moving, rifle pointing at the sky.

“Razz!” He’d heard of soldiers freezing up in their first battle, but out of all of them, he never would have thought Razz would be the one to do it.

“They’re Fiends,” Razz said.

“Oh, _hell_.” That was the old gang Razz never wanted to talk about. It didn’t look like he’d be much help in this fight. And that meant it was all up to O’Hanrahan.

All right, he could handle this! Probably!

He vaulted over the rock to confront the two Fiends.

The gal was the faster runner, which he wasn’t exactly pleased about. He didn’t feel right beating up on a lady, even if she was screaming, “Fucking kill!” and trying to bash his head in with a baseball bat. 

“Ma’am, I’d really rather not have to hurt you—” He managed to get the bat out of her hands before she could knock his block off, but she just started punching him instead. She was a mean one, too. He really wasn’t sure he could fight her off and take that big fellow at the same time.

But Razz was standing by his side by the time that other one caught up, holding his combat knife instead of his rifle, but ready just the same.

“Mike, wait!” he yelled, and the Fiend skidded to a stop.

“Razz?” He sounded shocked, maybe even like there were hurt feelings involved, but then he waved his tire iron in the air and yelled, “You fuckin’ went over to the enemy?!” 

So appealing to old friendships wasn’t going to help. Those two went at each other, leaving O’Hanrahan to focus on his own fight.

He didn’t see what happened. He just heard a _thud_ , and when he looked, Razz was on the ground with the big Fiend on top of him.

For the first time, instead of just holding her off, O’Hanrahan up and hit the lady who was trying to kill him. He used the butt of his rifle to strike her at the base of the skull, and she crumpled to the ground. Then he grabbed the other one by the collar, hefted him up and threw him to the side. Without waiting around to see where that one landed, he knelt and pulled Razz up by the shoulders.

“Are you hurt?” he half-shouted into his companion’s face. “Razz, buddy, speak to me!”

“Stop—shaking—me—”

“Sorry!” He let go, and this time Razz had to grab him just to keep from falling over.

“I’m _fine,_ you lunk!” He looked round at the raiders lying on the ground. Neither one of them was moving. “Shit.”

“Friends of yours?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“No! Yeah. I dunno. None of your fucking business!” He shook O’Hanrahan off and stood up.

“It’s all right if it bothers you.”

“Just—shut up, O’Hanrahan! And—if you fucking tell _anyone_ I choked back there, I’ll—I’ll—” Maybe he couldn’t think of a good threat, or maybe he just couldn’t think of one he thought O’Hanrahan would believe. 

“There’s nothing to tell,” O’Hanrahan said, to save him from having to grope for the right words.

“Oh. Okay. Fine.” He bent over the big raider fellow, who was lying in a pool of spreading blood. In a minute, O’Hanrahan saw why: Razz’s knife was jammed up into his neck. So if he was dead, it wasn’t O’Hanrahan’s doing. He was relieved to know that, even though he knew it was purely selfish on his part. Dead was dead, no matter how it happened.

Razz pulled out his knife, wiped it clean, and replaced it in its sheath. Then he shot a glare at O’Hanrahan.

“Well, what are you looking at? Go find your stupid courier so you can send your stupid letter.” 

“You sure you’re okay?” O’Hanrahan asked. _He_ didn’t feel okay. His heart was racing, and not out of excitement. He’d just shot a man, and hit a lady over the head hard enough to knock her out, and he’d thought, even if it was just for a few seconds, that his buddy was getting killed. He knew for sure now that he wasn’t cut out to be a real soldier, because all this was making him want to be sick.

“Fuck off.”

That was as close to _I’m fine, please don’t worry about me_ as he was likely to come, so O’Hanrahan accepted it. Even if Razz’s hands quaked while he shook the sand off his uniform, and the thin strip of skin between the gaps in his wrap was pale and sweaty, there was nothing else to do.

Besides—O’Hanrahan clenched his own clammy fists, and they trembled—he wasn’t feeling too steady himself; maybe he’d best stop worrying about the splinter in his brother’s eye, and start paying more attention to the redwood in his own. 

“All right, Razz,” O’Hanrahan said. 

Razz didn’t come out with anything else that ought to have gotten his mouth washed out with soap, so O’Hanrahan turned away. He looked over the lady fiend long enough to see that she was still breathing, but he didn’t linger. She was out cold. Maybe if no one else noticed her, he wouldn’t have to finish her off.

It was too late for the one he’d shot, though. He could see the courier already standing over...the body. O’Hanrahan shook his head and tried to pull himself together. He was a soldier and the Fiends were the enemy, and it was darn certain that Razz and the corporal wouldn’t understand his feelings. Razz had a right to be upset after having to kill a man who must have meant something to him once, but O’Hanrahan was just supposed to do his duty.

“Nice job, private,” the courier said.

“Thank you, sir.” It wasn’t exactly right to call a corporal sir, he’d be Corporal Jones or just plain Corporal, but O’Hanrahan was a little nervous. The sir just slipped out. 

“You’ll be all right in a minute. Don’t worry, the first time is always the hardest.” 

“Oh, does it show that much?”

The courier just laughed and didn’t answer that.

“It’s lucky for me you and your friend were out this way,” he said instead.

Oh, right, the letter. In the heat of the moment, he’d plumb forgotten what had brought him out after the courier in the first place. Now it seemed more important than ever to make sure that little Hex never, _ever_ had to go through any of this. Even if maybe she’d take to it better than her big brother ever would. 

“We was hoping to catch up to you,” he said. “If you still have that letter I gave you this morning, there’s something I needed to add to it.”

“Well, I’m sure it’s around here somewhere...” They both looked out over the mess those raiders had made of the mail bag.

Well, shoot. It’d take some time to sort through all that. But between the three of them, at least they could gather it all together. And even if he couldn’t find Ma’s letter to add Hex’s to, he could still send it separately. It was likely to get there the same time either way. 

O’Hanrahan started gathering up the mail, checking each letter he picked up for his family name. It was slow going, but that was about what he’d expected. 

After a minute, Razz shuffled up to join him, favoring one leg some. He didn’t look too bad, so O’Hanrahan didn’t ask again if he was all right. Getting knocked down by a bigger man was nothing to be ashamed of, but Razz was touchy. He didn’t see most things the way O’Hanrahan did.

“Thanks for your help,” he said, as Razz started to scoop up the letters closest to his feet. “Do you see one addressed to Mrs. Ezra O’Hanrahan? Ezra’s my pa,” he explained. “Ma has her own name, but she likes to be fancy.” 

“Good for her.” That sounded sarcastic, but maybe it was just the way Razz talked.

“So, do you see it?” he asked again. “That’s E-Z-R—“

“I don’t fucking see it, okay?”

“Well, you ain’t even looking.” His voice came out a little sharp as his temper started to fray. At the sound of it, Razz turned his back and let his handful of letters fall to the ground. 

“What the fuck do I care about you and your stupid family? This is all bullshit. I hope the bitch gets what’s coming to her.” 

He started to stomp away, but O’Hanrahan grabbed him by the face wrap and hauled him back. Razz let out a muffled yell, but other than that, he was too surprised to fight back.

O’Hanrahan turned him around so they were face to face, and he shifted his grip to Razz’s sleeves so he could hold him still without accidentally hurting him.

“What did you just call my sister?” he asked. 

“You heard what I fucking said. Get the fuck off me!” He tried to fight his way free, but O’Hanrahan wouldn’t let him.

“Didn’t your mama ever teach you not to talk that way about a lady?” he asked.

“Obviously not, now get _off_!” 

“Not until you take it back!”

“Fuck you, fuck your sister, and fuck your fucking farm!” He punctuated each phrase by throwing himself backwards to try to break O’Hanrahan’s grip. On the last one, O’Hanrahan gave him a helping hand and tossed him to the ground. Then, before Razz could get his bearings, O’Hanrahan sat on him, same as he’d have done to a brahmin calf at branding time.

Unlike with the brahmin, he didn’t set down with near his full weight. But just like the brahmin, he had Razz in a position where he could kick and holler all he wanted, and still not get loose until O’Hanrahan _let_ him loose.

“I ain’t never been nothing but nice to you, Razz,” he said, raising his voice to make sure he was heard over the steady stream of _fuck yous_ and _get the hell off mes_. “But if fightin’ and bein’ mean is all you understand, then fine, let’s try it your way.” 

Razz took a swing at him, but he couldn’t put much into it at that angle. O’Hanrahan leaned over to pin both his arms to the ground. Razz kept trying to thrash his way out of it, but all O’Hanrahan had to do was sit. He had a pretty good idea which one of them would tire out first.

“You ready to be nice?”

“Fuck—you—“Razz panted.

“Ahem.”

O’Hanrahan looked up to see that courier, Corporal Jones, standing over them, holding a nearly-full mail sack.

“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but you’re right where I need to get.”

Oh, shoot, they were lying right on top of the last of the mail, and they’d left the poor courier to pick it up all by himself.

“Sorry, Corporal.” He got to his feet, and pulled Razz up after him. “Sorry, Razz.”

“What? Why?”

“Why what?” Sometimes it felt like the two of them were speaking entirely different languages, they misunderstood each other so much.

“Why are you apologizing to me?”

“Well, because I know I done wrong, of course.” O’Hanrahan wasn’t feeling too proud of himself, and found he couldn’t quite meet Razz’s eyes yet. So he turned to watch the courier, picking up stacks of letters where they’d just tussled, and chasing a couple envelopes that got twisted up in a breeze.

“Are you fucking serious? I was being an asshole!” Razz gave him a little shove in the arm. Either it wasn’t as hard as he could have, or he was a lot weaker than O’Hanrahan thought; his arm didn’t budge an inch. “Jesus, for a second I thought I might actually be able to respect you for tryin’ to kick my ass.”

“There ain’t nothing to respect about a man who uses his fists instead of his brains, especially not on a fella who ain’t as big as him.”

“Oh, my god,” Razz groaned, with a roll of his eyes.

“My mama taught me that.”

“ _Oh, my god._ Of course she did. You are such a little—”

“O’Hanrahan!” The courier, crouched on the ground a few paces away, stuck his arm in the air with a letter clutched in his fist. “Mrs. Ezra O’Hanrahan, right?”

“You found it! Gee, Razz, ain’t that just swell?”

“Swell,” Razz echoed. The way he said the word, he sounded like he was choking on it.

O’Hanrahan took his ma’s letter from the courier and opened up the envelope. He knew those things were supposed to seal themselves with that line of glue along the edge, but after two hundred years, it didn’t stick anymore. Lucky for him. It still looked neat and tidy when he put the second letter in and tucked the flap back inside. 

He handed it back to the corporal, who took a good, long look at the address. “Oregon territory, huh? I’ve got connections up that way. I’ll see to it this gets a rush. Least I can do for you after saving my skin.”

Oh. No, that wasn’t right. He shouldn’t get better treatment just for doing the right thing. O’Hanrahan opened his mouth to object, but then he thought of Hex. Headstrong, impulsive little Hex. Maybe just this once it’d be all right to take advantage. It was an emergency, after all. The good lord had to understand that.

Right?

It was too late to argue. The courier was already walking away. Darn it, now he’d missed his chance and just had to hope for the best.

“Who pissed in your Sugar Bombs, farm boy?” Razz asked. “You just got what you came for. What the hell have you got to look sad about?”

“Oh...well, you’re right, I guess. I ain’t sad, anyhow. You want to get goin’?” He didn’t much think Razz would be too understanding of his moral dilemma.

“What, you’re not gonna...” He made a fist and thumped it into his own palm. O’Hanrahan winced. Was Razz expecting him to try to beat him up? _Really_?

“I don’t _like_ fighting, Razz. I thought you’d have learned that about me by now.” He stuck out his hand for Razz to shake.

“W-what are you doing?” Razz asked, eyeing O’Hanrahan’s hand like it was a bomb that was about to go off.

“Just trying to show you there’s no hard feelings. If you’d rather not, I won’t hold it against you.” He didn’t really expect Razz to shake his hand, but he did want to make up. He didn’t like using his size to act like a bully, even if he was pushed into it a little.

“Jesus. If you’re going to be such a pussy about it, I...guess I’ll stop talking shit about your sister. Okay?” He looked at O’Hanrahan’s hand again. “Don’t touch me.”

“I’d also appreciate it if you wouldn’t call me names like that,” O’Hanrahan suggested, without much hope that he’d win the point. But he might as well bring it up, while they were on the subject of politeness.

“Yeah...okay, fine,” Razz said reluctantly. “Now seriously, put your goddamn hand down.”

O’Hanrahan couldn’t help grinning broadly.

“You’re all right, Razz!” He clapped him on the shoulder, and then remembered he wasn’t supposed to touch. Whoops.

“Ugh. You...fight good. I guess. For such a...such a...” His face contorted under the wrap, and he spat, “such a _nice person_. Is that okay with you?”

“Aw, shucks.” It sure was nice of Razz to try to be nice, when it obviously didn’t come easy.

“Will you _stop_ with your ‘aw, shucks’ and your ‘golly gee willickers’ and all your happy family bullshit?”

“Weren’t you happy with your family?” he asked. If the answer was no, then that was just about the saddest thing he’d ever heard.

“We should get back to base,” Razz said. And that wasn’t an answer.

“Oh, gee,” he said softly. “Is that why I never see you writing letters home?”

“No...I don’t...Fuck, I _can’t_.” He said it like he was admitting to something he’d rather not, but O’Hanrahan wasn’t quite sure what he was admitting to.

“Do you mean you don’t know where they are?” he asked. 

“No!” Razz was getting mad again, but O’Hanrahan was still confused.

“No, that ain’t what you meant, or no, you don’t know where they are?”

“For fuck’s sake! I don’t have a fucking family, and I can’t read!”

“You don’t have a family?” How could anybody not have a family? Not even a little one? A ma? Something?

And didn’t he just feel terrible for bringing it up. And for pestering Razz all this time about his letters and his magazines, not knowing he was poking at a sore spot.

“You don’t have to look at me like that,” said Razz. “I’m not _dying_.”

“I’m sorry, Razz! I’m powerful sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Because I didn’t tell you, fucking obviously.”

“You didn’t have to keep it a secret,” he said earnestly. “Why, I’ve heard lots of folks say the army is their family. A home away from home, you might say.”

“Good fucking god, you’re like one of those morons from the vaults.”

Well, that was a nice thought! Vaults were real nice places, or so he’d heard.

“Thank you, Razz. And as for the reading, there ain’t no shame in not knowing how,” O’Hanrahan said. “There’s lots of folks around that can’t read, even in the army. Sure, officers have to be educated folk, but they do make allowances for enlisted men.”

“Yeah, sure, allowances. You’re ‘allowed’ to take a _huge_ fucking pay cut, and they stick you with all the shit jobs. No, thanks.”

“There is that,” O’Hanrahan sighed. Trust Razz to look at the worst of the situation. “They also offer free classes for anyone who wants to learn. You could get back up to full pay pretty quick if you tried.”

“Except they’d throw me out of the army for lying on a government form. I might even end up in jail if I pissed them off enough. Which I would, I always piss people off.” He clenched his fist. “So if you blab—” he started, taking a threatening step toward O’Hanrahan.

“Oh, heck, Razz, your secret is safe with me! Only, how did you fill out all that paperwork without letting on?” Part of the recruiters’ job was to read the intake papers to those who needed the help, and write in the medical history and all that, and show the new soldiers where to make their mark, but Razz couldn’t have gotten that much help and still kept it secret.

“I cheated.” He shrugged. “The guy in line ahead of me got cold feet, so I...took his. Seemed like a good idea at the time, I guess.”

“Well, I can see why you’d do it.” Never mind what Baby Jesus thought about lying and cheating, he did understand. He put a hand on Razz’s shoulder, meaning it as a comfort. “Listen, if there’s ever anything—”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I was just offering—”

“No. Fuck, no. I don’t need your help, or your sympathy, or whatever the fuck this is. All I need you to do is keep your goddamn mouth shut, you got it?”

“All right, Razz.”

That took the wind out of his sails. O’Hanrahan was finding that casual agreement usually did.

“Well...good. Great. So can we fucking go now?”

“All right,” he said again.

So they made the long hike back to base. Razz was simmering with resentment, refusing to talk, not even taking the canteen when it was offered. Out of sheer boredom, and to take his mind off the lingering thoughts of gunfire and blood, O’Hanrahan filled the silence with every marching song he could think of. Razz did not join in. 

They reached Camp Golf just in time to join the others in the mess tent. At least, O’Hanrahan joined them. Razz went straight to his own bunk. But O’Hanrahan wasn’t one to miss a meal, especially when lunchtime had already passed them by.

He sat with Mags and Poindexter, who spent the time hashing out how they would win the war if the brass would just put them in charge. It sounded like a lot of hooey, but they didn’t ask for his opinion. That was all right, really. They weren’t the only ones who thought he was too dumb to have two thoughts to rub together. But while he was keeping his mouth shut, his thoughts—he did have some—kept straying back to his buddy. Because that’s what Razz was, whether he liked the idea or not.

Before the other two were half finished, O’Hanrahan stood up, pocketing an unopened can of CRAM and the rock-hard cookie that was supposed to be his dessert. That got him a raised eyebrow from Mags, but she didn’t quote any regs about how food was meant to be eaten in the mess tent and not squirreled away under the bed. 

“Razz ain’t feeling too well,” he explained. “Figured I ought to bring him something.”

“Anything serious?”

“I don’t think so. Just been a long day, is all.” And he didn’t need to tell her any more than that, not unless Razz wanted her to know.

She and Dex exchanged glances, and both nodded.

“We’ll stay out of the tent for a while,” Mags said. “Poindexter needs to put in some time on the rifle range, anyway.”

“Now, I didn’t agree to—”

“You haven’t been out there in a week, _Private_.” She held Dex’s gaze until he stopped looking like he thought he was too good to practice, and remembered he was supposed to be a soldier.

“Yes, ma’am.” He still didn’t sound happy, but at least he’d remembered that Mags outranked him.

O’Hanrahan walked back to the tent, smiling again. It was nice to see the others getting along, even if Mags did still have to fight sometimes to get the three of them to do right. They were trying, anyhow, and the results were starting to show. Why, just a month ago, he never would have been able to take on those three raiders. He’d have gotten him and Razz both killed.

His smile faded away. He had gone after those Fiends with the intent to kill, and that being his duty didn’t make it go down any easier. Two of them were dead, and that gal might be in real bad shape, and he’d played his part in all of that. It didn’t matter that they were the enemy. They were people, too. A soldier wasn’t supposed to think that way, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d never tried to kill anyone before. Never even hurt anybody, not on purpose.

He could only imagine how much worse it would have been if they hadn’t been strangers.

He found Razz already in bed, curled up with a blanket, a cigarette, and a magazine, pieces of his uniform scattered along the ground where he’d tossed them. He wasn’t wearing his face wrap, but when he saw O’Hanrahan come in, he ducked behind the magazine so nothing showed but his hair and a curl of smoke. He was looking at an issue of Boxing Times, which made sense. It was mostly pictures.

“Razz?” he said, a little nervous. Razz didn’t move, so O’Hanrahan dropped the CRAM and the cookie in his lap.

Then Razz slowly lowered the magazine just enough to look at the food, then at O’Hanrahan. The crease between his eyebrows didn’t make him look like he was smiling.

“I don’t—”

“I don’t care if you didn’t ask for it,” O’Hanrahan said firmly. “You ain’t been throwed out of the army _yet_ , and you’re still entitled to three square meals a day off of the government’s bottlecap.” 

“The NCR doesn’t use caps,” said Razz.

“It’s just an expression.” 

The magazine came back up.

With a sigh, O’Hanrahan started picking up the pieces of Razz’s uniform and folding them. Mags might give the man a break if she thought he needed it, but she would only stand for so much. 

“Just leave it,” Razz snapped. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter? It’ll matter to Mags. You willing to take the punishment she’ll give you for leaving your space like this?”

Razz just shrugged.

O’Hanrahan dumped the clumsily-folded uniform on the nearest flat surface. This wasn’t good. Razz was ornery as all get-out, and he’d had a time fitting himself to military discipline, but he’d been _trying_ , at least. And now he was acting like he just didn’t care. And there was so much tension in his shoulders, he looked like one little push would just snap him in half, and O’Hanrahan couldn’t leave that alone.

“Darn it, Razz, are you _all right_?”

“I just killed my only friend, okay?” Razz snarled, still hidden behind his magazine. “Does that fucking sound all right to you?”

“No,” O’Hanrahan said honestly. “If it was me, I reckon I’d feel like nothing would ever be right again.”

The magazine came down again, just a little. The eyebrow crease had moved to a different spot.

“So—what, you’d just think about cute little bunny rabbits and then everything would be all better?” There was a catch in his voice that had never been there before. O’Hanrahan took a seat on his own bunk, close enough to keep talking without feeling like he was looming over the fella. 

“I’d try to talk to my little sisters,” he decided. Even before Ma and Pa, he’d go to the girls. “Ain’t nobody in this world cares about me more than them.”

“Oh, great. Well, I don’t have some dumbass family to listen to all my dumbass problems.” The magazine cover crinkled and bent as his grip went tighter. “I can’t even fucking go back to the Fiends now, if the army cuts me loose. Not that I’d even _want_ to, but it’s better than...” He shrugged again.

Better than being alone, was what O’Hanrahan guessed fit the end of that sentence.

“We’ll just have to make sure the army don’t cut you loose, then,” he said.

The magazine dropped a little more. 

“ _What_?”

“The way I see it, you’d only need enough reading to make sure you could understand your intake papers. Then it couldn’t be proved you did wrong when you signed up. Heck, _I_ could teach you that much.”

The magazine dropped all the way down, and so did Razz’s cigarette. Fortunately, it rolled onto the dirt floor instead of catching in the bedcovers.

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“So’s you wouldn’t get kicked out of the army.”

“But _why_?” Razz repeated. “You just said this morning you don’t even like me.”

“Naw, I said you made it real tough to like you. But just ‘cause you make it tough don’t mean I can’t keep trying. And when an O’Hanrahan sets his mind to trying something, he generally makes it a success.” Well, maybe not in business matters, but this was no time to quibble. “You know, that Mike fella doesn’t have to be your _only_ friend.”

Razz’s mouth worked a little, like he had a lot to say and just couldn’t find the words. But in the end, all he did was duck his head and say, real quiet, “Okay.”


	2. ...B, you're so beautiful...

O’Hanrahan was real glad to learn Razz sort of knew his letters. He knew the shapes, ‘cause he saw ‘em all the time, and he knew the order some of ‘em went in, after a fashion. Maybe he didn’t know the whole alphabet, but he knew “ABC” went together, and he knew “Ellie-Minnie-Pea,” so that was something.

Razz had some trouble with which direction some letters were supposed to go—whether b was d or p was q and which way an s was supposed to curve—but they weren’t quite starting from scratch, just pert near to it.

“Maybe I ought to teach you the song, anyhow,” O’Hanrahan suggested. Razz did something with his face that was probably some variation of a frown.

“There’s a _song_ now? Fuck that, O’Hanrahan. I don’t sing.”

“Aw, now, Razz, I bet you have a real nice voice.”

“Yeah, sure,” Razz scoffed. “I used to be a choir boy. I sing like a fuckin’ angel.”

“Well, that’s good, then!” He didn’t quite think Razz was being serious, but he wasn’t going to be the one to call his buddy a liar. “Say, why don’t we go for a run when our shift’s up? We can use the song as a marching cadence. Won’t nobody hear us if we go out around the lake, and if they see us, well, we’ll just be workin’ on improving your run time.” That sort of thing wouldn’t seem too unusual for a couple of squadmates to work at together. Razz always started the two mile run just as strong as could be, but he slowed to a crawl on the final lap. The fella needed to learn to pace himself.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You don’t just want me to sing, you want me to do it in _public_?” Razz leaned back in his chair, until he was balancing on just two of its rickety legs. O’Hanrahan tried not to shake his head at that; unless he was asleep, the man never could sit still for long when they drew guard duty. One of these days, he was gonna lean so far back against the base, he’d go straight through a window. “And _run_ at the same time, yet? You got fuckin’ rocks rattling around in that fat head of yours, or what?”

“It ain’t so fat,” O’Hanrahan said with a good-natured smile, “and if there’s rocks in it, well shoot, at least it ain’t empty.”

Razz sighed.

“All right...fine...I’ll run. And I’ll _sing_. But if you tell anyone...”

“I know, I know, you’ll kick my heinie.”

Then Razz’s chair did tip over, but at least he slammed into the wood and not the glass.

“ _Heinie_?”

“Maybe I should’ve called it my sit-upon.” O’Hanrahan reached out and offered Razz a hand. He ignored it, got up by himself and righted his chair again.

Razz plopped back on his seat and kicked his feet up on the railing in front of them. “You’re fuckin’ ridiculous, you know that?”

* * *

For the first few minutes of their run, Razz kept the pace. The two of ‘em fell into an easy jog, boots hitting dirt in sync, and O’Hanrahan thought maybe they’d do okay. He wasn’t crazy enough to try and run a whole lap ‘round the lake, just down a ways until they hit the old abandoned fishin’ shack.

But the plain fact of the matter was O’Hanrahan’s legs were longer and his lungs were better. Soon, Razz fell behind. His footfalls went cockeyed instead of in a straight line and he wheezed on every syllable of the cadence.

O’Hanrahan compensated. He slowed down, made his strides shorter, until they were side by side again.

“C’mon, buddy, you can do it.” O’Hanrahan started the song again, keeping the letters in time with his feet. “A-B-C-”

“Fuck—“ Razz squeaked between breaths, like an old dog toy with a broken squeeze box. “—you.”

“Do you need to stop?” He wouldn’t ask, except he’d never heard anybody sound this bad so early in a run.

“I said—fuck you—don’t slow down for me—I’m fine—motherfucker—”

“Don’t waste your breath cussin’ me, Razz.”

“Fuck—” Razz glared at him and left the rest unsaid.

“You know, you really should cut down on the smoking.”

“A-B-C, goddammit!” He coughed and wobbled on the path, but he stayed upright out of sheer grit. O’Hanrahan had to say that much for him. “What’s—the next—part?”

“D-E-F—that one starts them words you like so much.”

“D-E-Ffffuck—“

“Close enough,” O’Hanrahan said with an encouraging nod.

“I need—“ Razz wheezed some more and skidded to a stop. He bent down, put his hands on his knees and hacked until it sounded like he was gonna cough out his lungs.

“You fixin’ to lose your lunch? You know you’re supposed to do it without breaking stride.” That was a rite of passage in the army, although it had never happened to O’Hanrahan.

Razz raised his middle finger, which was as good a way as any to say what was on his mind.

“S’alright, you’ll get it yet,” O’Hanrahan said, with a friendly pat on his back. That just set off another coughing fit. “Maybe you’d best get a drink.”

Razz shook his head, still choking. A whole heap of colors rose in his face, one right after another like he was one of them pre-war stoplights. Pink, red, _real_ red, purple. “Left—my canteen—“

“Well, there’s a lake, ain’t there?”

Razz straightened up only to stagger sideways, right into O’Hanrahan. O’Hanrahan set him upright again.

“Jesus, you’re not—not even sweating. How do you do this? _Are_ you human?”

“So far as I know.” Razz wasn’t the first one to ask the question, but the family records didn’t say nothing about marrying into a clan of hill-mutants or nothing like that. “Go on, get you some water. I’ll keep an eye out for them scaly things.”

Without a backward glance, Razz stumbled off toward the water. O’Hanrahan made sure he got to the lake’s edge all right, then busied himself looking elsewhere. No sense watching him huff and puff and struggle, it’d only make him more flustered and embarrassed. Poor Razz.

O’Hanrahan peered down the way they’d come, then down the way they were headed. They hadn’t been running but a quarter hour, and had got barely past the pipes that split off from Camp Golf. If it’d just been him, he’d be halfway to the shack by now. He made this run alone often enough to know. O’Hanrahan sighed and put his hands on his hips. He had his work cut out for him if he was gonna make anyone believe he was actually training his buddy, never mind the actual alphabet teaching part.

Well, they’d just have to do this more, morning and night from now on. Razz needed to improve his run time and stamina anyhow if he didn’t want to wash out of the army; might as well do it with a friend. And, much as O’Hanrahan hated the idea of interfering, he’d have to really lean on Razz to give up them cigarettes. Or at least cut back. That might be a bigger fight than getting him to run every day.

The sound of splashing pulled his attention back to the lake. Razz had given up on drinking from his hands, and just gone and dunked his whole head in. That would cool him off, anyhow. And there was no radiation to worry about in Lake Mead. Only the local wildlife.

“Try not to fall in,” he joked loudly, but Razz didn’t react. Probably couldn’t hear him too well with his head all the way under the water like that.

O’Hanrahan went back to keeping his eyes peeled for danger. Way off in the distance toward the fishin’ shack, he could make out some shapes hovering around. Hard to tell if they were bloatflies or cazadores from here, even if he shaded his eyes from the sun and squinted, but they were far enough off that they weren’t a threat for now. Still none of them scaly fishmen, neither.

With nothing else to do, he looked back at Razz, still with his head in the lake. Gee, he’d been under for awhile now. A lot longer than a quick dunk to cool off should take.

“Hey, buddy?” O’Hanrahan started down the slight slope toward the water. He frowned at Razz’s fingers scrabbling in the sand on either side of him. That was peculiar.

Finally he saw it: a murky, slimy _something_ , wrapped around the back of Razz’s neck, half covered by his collar. From where he'd been on the path, there was no way O’Hanrahan could have spotted it—and the part that was underwater was still invisible even when he knew where to look—but now he knew. Something was trying to drag Razz under.

“Holy smokes!”

O’Hanrahan took off toward the shore. Razz’s hands skittered in the sand, lost their grip, and his whole body shot into the lake. Legs flailing, water splashing, sand flying. O’Hanrahan reached him in time to grab him by the ankle of one pant leg before he could go under all the way, but whatever had hold of Razz was at least as strong as him. Maybe—O’Hanrahan gulped and tugged with all his might—stronger.

“Hang on, Razz!”

Razz didn’t answer—couldn’t, with his top half underwater—but his free foot kicked and clipped O’Hanrahan under the chin. He grabbed that, too, and didn’t bother complaining about the kick.

He had a decent enough grip, but it wasn’t likely to do much good if Razz didn’t come up for air soon. And he was sliding, in spite of his best effort. He was already waist-deep in the water, and if they got much farther out, he’d be in a heap of trouble, too.

Up ahead, Razz twisted at the waist in the lake and fumbled around for something, seemed like. He almost wrenched himself right out of O’Hanrahan’s hands, but O’Hanrahan gritted his teeth, dug his heels into the lake bed and held on.

It didn’t make much difference. Whatever had grabbed Razz was big enough to drag them both. O’Hanrahan skidded behind until the water lapped at his chest.

Something changed suddenly, though he couldn't say why. They stopped sliding quite so much, and Razz’s head came up long enough for a gasp and a cough. The slimy arm-like thing wrapped around him again and pulled him back under.

It was slick with what looked like blood. Razz must have gotten to his combat knife, O’Hanrahan realized. And that meant they might have a chance.

He grabbed Razz by the knee, and then by the belt, hauling himself forward to get to the thing that had him. He said a little prayer, took a breath, held it and then ducked beneath the surface to get a look at the goings on.

The water stung his eyes, but he adjusted right quick. A black cloud billowed from the fishman’s throat, blossoming into the water like spilled ink; another spewed from its side, and two more from the inside of its thigh.

Still, it held onto Razz’s neck with long, shining claws. But it was bleeding out; if its innards were anything like human, the combat knife had cut up some real important plumbing, and its struggles weakened. The wounds couldn’t clot easily in churning water, even if the cold and the pressure might slow the bleeding.

O’Hanrahan reached out and grabbed the fishman’s fingers—flippers? Whatever they were. He grabbed ‘em. He jammed one hand beneath its huge, knobby knuckles, grabbed its wrist with the other, and pried it loose from around Razz’s neck. The fishman floundered their direction, arm outstretched, but Razz slashed out at it with his knife.

Another injury, another spurt of blood in the water. O’Hanrahan yanked Razz back, away from the monster, and kicked at it.

The fishman tried to recover, first from the knife, then from the boot planted in the middle of its chest. It couldn’t. The water, once clear enough to see through, had gone cloudy and dark from all its blood. The blow from O’Hanrahan’s boot sent it tumbling into empty space, clawing faintly at nothing, until at last its body went limp and floated away.

O’Hanrahan put his feet down and stood up. He burst into the open air and sucked in a heaving breath. The water was up to his chin, which meant it was over Razz’s head. O’Hanrahan reached down into the water, found the back of his buddy’s shirt again, and hauled him up.

Razz’s nose and mouth broke the surface with a sputtered, “Fuck!” So he was all right, then. Keeping a firm grip on the shirt, O’Hanrahan waded back to shore. The scaly thing didn’t come after them. He guessed it was dead.

By the time they got to where Razz could put his own feet on the bottom, he was laughing. O’Hanrahan didn’t see much funny in the situation. The lake was durn cold, and them fishmen were _strong_.

Then again, the two of ‘em weren’t lying there drowned. That was something worth smiling about.

“You all right, Razz?” he asked, giving him a last shove onto dry land.

“’Course I’m all right! We kicked its ass!”

“Well, I s’pose so.”

They flopped down, side by side on their backs. Razz was still breathlessly laughing. Shivering too, but the sun would warm him up in a minute. O’Hanrahan was too big to chill through that quick, but he was looking forward to a dry pair of socks, himself.

“What’s to suppose?” Razz asked. “We’re alive, it’s dead. Wait—you’re okay, aren’t you?”

“Oh, sure. But that was a close one.” He tried for a joke, since Razz had stopped laughing: “Reckon I ought to learn to swim.”

Razz came up on one elbow to look at him.

“You can’t swim? Why’d you come after me, then?”

“Well, I figured you couldn’t, either. Most people can’t. I thought you was a goner when I seen that thing pull you under, and, heck, I couldn’t just let it take you.”

“Oh.” Razz fell back on the sand, staring at the sky. He was smiling, almost.

“I never noticed before,” O’Hanrahan said. “You got a real nice smile.”

Razz flinched like he’d said something indecent to the preacher.

“You dumbass, I don’t have a—there’s nothing _nice_ about me.”

“Sorry, Razz.” He didn’t take it back, though. He was sure there was more niceness in Razz than the fella could see in himself. It just needed a chance to come out.

“You’re so fucking weird,” Razz muttered. “I mean...I guess it’s cool and all, having you around to watch my back.”

“Aw—”

“If you say ‘Aw, shucks,’ I’ll pop you one.”

O’Hanrahan laughed.

“All right, Razz.”

Razz’s face scrunched up like he’d taken a bite of something sour, but he broke and laughed again in spite of himself.

“Fuckin’ farmboy.” He sat up suddenly, frowning. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He strained to pick up on the sound that was bothering Razz, but Razz’s ears must have been sharper than his. All he could hear were the normal sounds of wind and water, the distant boom-boom of somebody getting in some practice time at the explosives range, and…

Buzzing?

O’Hanrahan shot up and looked around.

Well, he had his answer about whether them flyin’ things in the distance were bloatflies or cazadores. And they weren’t so distant anymore.

“Shit!” Razz scrambled toward the water on hands and knees. He splashed into it, took in a great big breath and dove under. O’Hanrahan followed. If it was down to a choice between fishmen and spider-wasps, the fishmen won. At least they stood a chance against _those._ A fella couldn’t just walk off a cazador sting, and the two of ‘em were far enough from base they’d wouldn’t make it back before the venom paralyzed. And it might be he could outrun a cazador, or might be he couldn’t, but it was darn sure he’d be leaving Razz behind if he tried.

Closer to the shore, the water was still clear-ish. Not like where they’d killed the fishman. O’Hanrahan glanced over to see Razz with his cheeks puffed up, and flashed a reassuring OK-sign. Razz replied with a middle finger. A shadow fell across him. O’Hanrahan glanced up.

The swarm of cazadores hung over the lake in an angry knot, weaving and diving and jabbing their stingers at the water. But they never got close enough that they might risk getting wet. They were furious, but they sure weren’t suicidal. Lucky for the two of them.

Razz hooked O’Hanrahan by the elbow and tugged him toward the open water. What could he be thinking? They’d drown out that way, even if they didn’t find more fishmen. He shook his head and tried to take his arm back, but Razz pulled at him. Seemed he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Well, if O’Hanrahan’s buddy was asking for trust, he could hardly say no. Not after all the trusting he’d asked Razz to do. So, he went along.

Razz was a lot stronger in the water, or maybe O’Hanrahan was lighter, because he pulled them right where he wanted to go, much to O’Hanrahan’s surprise. Pa could say what he liked about death, but at that moment it seemed to him it was _water_ that was the great equalizer.

When they were away from the shore, Razz pushed off from the lake bed. He kicked his legs, moved his free arm through the water, and picked up speed. Well, hot dog! He could swim! And not just dog paddle, either! The little fella moved like a silver fish, all fluid and quick, and pulled O’Hanrahan along behind like he weighed nothing at all. If only the NCR fought its wars in the ocean, he might have made General.

The cazadores didn’t follow. Maybe them bugs couldn’t see through the water. O’Hanrahan glanced back over his shoulder as Razz towed him in the direction of Camp Golf. Yep, that bunch of angry, winged shadows was still moving above the lake, trying their darnedest to stab it without touching it.

Well, all right! If they didn’t run into any more of the fishmen, maybe they’d make it back in one piece.

O’Hanrahan tried to swim along the way Razz was, but he didn’t seem to have the knack. After a few seconds of his floundering, Razz turned and waved his free hand in a clear signal for O’Hanrahan to stop. So he did. Every instinct said he needed to help out, but he did his best to relax and let himself be pulled along through the water. It had been an awful long time since anyone had been able to carry him anywhere.

Razz kicked up to the surface long enough for them both to get a quick breath, and back under before the cazadores could notice them. Then they were off again like a streak toward the other shore.

They stopped just short of it, near them big pipes that let out into the lake, and surfaced. Razz made sure to let him go only when the water was shallow enough for O’Hanrahan to stand up in. That was awful thoughtful of him.

O’Hanrahan wiped the water out of his eyes and looked back down the way they’d come. The cazadores still bobbed over the water, but more lazy-like than furious now. Maybe they were losing interest. They were safe, thanks to Razz.

He turned back to look at Razz. _“_ Where’d you learn to swim?”

“I grew up in the Boneyard,” Razz said, treading water beside him like it was nothing at all. “The old suburbs are underwater. Can’t scav if you can’t swim.”

“Gee,” O’Hanrahan stared at him, wide eyed, “could you teach me?”

“Huh?” Razz blew out a breath, trying fight the water dripping down into his eyes.

“Could you teach me to swim?”

“Fuck if I know. I’ve never taught anybody anything before.”

“Well, neither have I. Figure there’s a first time for everything, though.”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess. Later, though.” He pushed off toward dry land. “This water’s cold as shit today.”

O’Hanrahan followed him onto the beach. With a glance back at the cazadores, they both decided not to stop for a rest.

“Back to base?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“Yeah. But you’re not still going to make me sing, are you?”

“I dunno. Think you can handle another run?” The distance was a lot shorter now, but he wasn’t sure Razz would be able to call a cadence and run at the same time for a while yet.

“Fuck you! I can do it!”

O’Hanrahan grinned. “All right, Razz.”

* * *

The jog back was slow and soggy, but Razz sang the alphabet three whole times. That was better than all right.

Back in the tent, they found Mags studying one of her many army manuals, and Dex working on a letter to whoever it was he wrote to. They both looked up in surprise at the pair dripping lake water all over the dirt floor.

O’Hanrahan felt like a little boy coming home to Ma and Pa after getting up to something he oughtn’t. But Razz didn’t seem to mind.

“What on earth happened to _you_?” Dex asked, and even if he didn’t sound too concerned, it was still nice of him to ask.

“We went for a run,” said Razz.

“And a swim,” O’Hanrahan added. Something in his voice set Razz off laughing again.

“And—and another swim.”

“That one was because of the cazadores.”

“The first time was a lakelurk.”

“It wasn’t our idea.”

“Holy shit,” said Mags. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said O’Hanrahan. Razz nodded.

“Good.” She tossed each of them a spare blanket to use as a towel. “Then I can yell at you without feeling bad about it. We have places to run _inside_ the perimeter, you idiots! Are you trying to get yourselves killed?”

“I never run into any problems out there before,” said O’Hanrahan. “Sorry, Mags.”

She sighed.

“Just don’t let me hear about you going out there on your own. Any time Razz isn’t available, you can take Poindexter.”

“Hey,” Dex protested. “Why should I be punished just because _they_ broke regulations?”

“Because you’ve been here sitting on your duff while Razz was out working with a guy whose PT scores qualify him for Ranger training! Way to show initiative, private!” she yelled at Razz without a pause for breath.

“Yes, ma’am! Thank you, ma’am!” Razz said through another fit of snickers.

“Do I look like an officer to you? Don’t answer that,” Mags said. “Dry off. Then hit the showers. Get yourselves cleaned up.”

“Yes, there’s no telling what kind of parasites are in Lake Mead,” Dex added with a distasteful sniff. The interruption earned him a sharp look from Mags, but she said nothing about it.

“Then I expect you out on the rifle range. Fourteen hundred hours sharp, you hear?”

“Yes, m—corporal.”

* * *

**Feb. 28, 2282**

Dear Ma,

Not much has changed here since my last letter. I am real busy, but never to busy to think of my ma. I hope you and all the family are still doing good.

I wonder do you still have them books you used to read to me when I was a little fella, the ones me and the girls learnt our letters from. If you can find them and it ain’t no trouble, can you send them to me? I would like to show them to my friend.

He is a real nice fella, only he don’t want no one to know. He’s like Pa that way. You would like him. I think you would like all my friends. I do. But Razz is kind of special I guess. He gives me a case of botheration something fierce, the way Bobby Tan used to when we was kids. You remember Bobby Tan from up the road? Razz makes me feel like that. I like him, even though he’s cantankerus.

If your sewing circle sees fit to make more socks, please send some along. Razz and me got into mis-adventure down at that lake I told you about and I think the ones I give him got wrecked. We are OK. Don’t worry. Only I pulled on him somethin awful trying to get him out of the water. He has littler feet than me and is partial to red.

Razz does not have a ma. Or any family at all. I think about that and am awful glad I have you.

Your loving son,

Hoss


	3. ...C, you're a cutie full of charm...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was never gone. I updated in a timely fashion. I am a reliable, responsible adult. I have not used this same author's note on a different neglected WIP that was just updated.
> 
> /Jedi mind trick

**March 3, 2282**

Dear Hoss,

How is my favorite big brother? Doing well, I hope. I’m all settled in here in the big city. We’re both making some big changes in our lives! It’s hard being away from Ma and Pa ~~and Hex~~ , and you know how much I miss you, but I am already very happy here. The schoolwork is hard, and I’m starting to find out how much of the basics I still need to learn. Still, I am not the only country mouse here. I know I can catch up if I work hard.

I got your first letter from boot camp. There better be more coming. I want to hear all about the army! Glad to hear they ~~ain~~  aren’t working you too hard, and I hope the food improves. Are you allowed to get packages? I could send you something nice from the candy shop here. I think that would last all right, even as slow as the mail is. And you send me something from the frontier! All my new friends will be jealous.

Being here is the one thing I have wanted most in my life, and I know how much you did to make sure it could happen. I promise I will make the most of it.

No matter what, come home safe.

Love and kisses,

Bell

P.S. Never mind about missing Hex! She got here before this could go out. Pa radioed from old Hussy’s store a few days after to tell her your letter arrived, a week past when it’d have been useful! That’s the mail, I guess.

Don’t worry. I will keep her out of trouble.

Even more love and kisses,

Bell

* * *

**March, sometime**

Dear Hoss,

Guess Ma got tired of hearin army this + army that, cause she sent me off for a visit to Bell. So here I am in the city. The Den is all right. The Followers of the Poklips (them as runs the collidge) ain’t no good for fiting, but I think they mean well and will look after our sister. You know she is just like them, smart as anything, but give her a real problem like brammin rustlers and she’s just helpless.

By the way, don’t you worry about the farm while I’m away. There’s an orphans home here in the Den that hires out its kids to farms and such, so Pa got a kid to keep up with my chores for two weeks, and all he has to pay is room and board. It’s supposed to be good for them kids to be out in the fresh air, and there’s laws about how much you got to feed em and how hard they’re allowed to work, but Bell says lots of folks don’t pay that no mind and treat the kids no better than slave labor. Bell is real interested in slavery now. Did you know her school is right in the ruins of the old slave pens? The Den was built on slaving, till some tribal come thru and shot em all. Bet her parents didn’t tell her to stay home and mind the cabages.

Anyhow Ma is already working herself silly in the kitchen making donuts for that orphan. I told her if I was in the army I could pay for them to hire on some help, and then that kid wouldn’t have to do no heavy liftin besides movin a fork up and down. She got mad. She knows I’m rite tho.

Pa gave me some money for new city cloths, which as it turns out look just the same as country cloths but cost twice as much. I got a new hat tho, so’s not to hurt his feelings. I know he was tryin to remind me how I used to talk about growin up to be a real reefined lady. I coulda told him that wearing frilly dresses when I was little never stopped me bein able to fite better than any boy in the village (not counting my big brother if he ever took it into his head) but Pa don’t know about the time I gave Billy Sumner a bloody nose, or Thunk’s front teeth or any of that. Guess I should thank you for all my secrets you kept.

Bell is tryin to talk me out of joining up, too, only she is just like Pa and don’t come strate out and say what she means. She tells me the food ain’t no good, and I says to her I may not be smart but I ain’t stupid, and why would Hoss stick it out if he wasn’t getting fed good? But to show her I was listening, we went to the candy shop and got some stuff to send you. I hope you like it.

Have been riting so long I feel like my hand is fixin to fall off, so that’s all. If I made mistakes, do like Pa says and blame it on the pen.

Your loving sister,

Helen Ann O’Hanrahan (citified lady)

PS: Bell and me got our pitchers tuck so I am sending you one of those too so you don’t forget what we look like.

* * *

So she was still dead set on the army. And darn it, he had no idea what to do about that. “Don’t join up until we talk” wasn’t going to put her off forever, ‘specially not if he never got around to the talking.

After he’d thought a spell, O’Hanrahan realized there was only one good answer. And not just because his other squadmates were out of the tent—Mags on the rifle range, getting in some extra practice, and Poindexter on KP duty for sassing an officer.

But Razz was there, trying to fix up a hole in his pants from their trouble at the lake. The repairs didn’t seem to be going so great.

“I bet Mags could sew that up for you,” he suggested. Razz barely looked up.

“Why would Mags do it?”

“Oh! I didn’t mean it because she’s the only lady in the outfit. It’s just, she’s always runnin’ the obstacle course in her spare time, and she ain’t so good she don’t get snagged on barbed wire like the rest of us. I seen her fix herself up just as good as new, almost.”

“Like I care if you think all chicks can sew.” He pricked his finger with the needle and added, “Shit. Look, O’Hanrahan, I don’t know how you do it on the farm, but this is the army. Even this bunch of losers should know better than to ask our squad leader to sew up our pants for us.”

“Ain’t no law against a friend askin’ another friend to lend a helpin’ hand if he needs it, though.”

“Uh...” The needle went still for a second. Then Razz just shrugged and got back to it.

“Or you could just do what I do. Put some duct tape on the inside and hope nobody notices.”

“Okay...do you have any tape?”

“Can’t say I do,” O’Hanrahan admitted.

“Then what use are you?” Frustrated, Razz put his work aside. At least the army issued more than one uniform at a time, so Razz’s problem wasn’t urgent.

Might be O’Hanrahan’s wasn’t, either. Leastways, he knew there wasn’t much he could do about it from his end. He ought to just trust the folks back home to look after his troublesome baby sister. She was their daughter, after all.

Except now she was out from under Ma and Pa’s watchful eye. Bell would do her best, but she was busy, and she never could control that little devil of a girl. Not like she needed.

“Say, Razz,” he started.

“Yeah? What?”

Oh...it was silly to ask him. Razz didn’t know about sisters, and he didn’t want to know. He’d just say they should go beat somebody up again.

“Sorry about your pants,” he said instead.

“You’re sorry you didn’t let a lakelurk drown me?”

“Well...” He’d been scared stiff at the time, and hadn’t really noticed his fingers tearing right through the fabric, or Razz’s boot coming half off in his hand. It wasn’t until later that he’d started to feel like he’d made a mess of what was supposed to be a rescue. “I’m glad about the not drowning part. I just should have realized you could get out of it without my help.” And if he hadn’t tried to help, Razz wouldn’t be sitting here with torn pants and holes in his socks.

“What? No, I couldn’t.” Razz leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, and stared at O’Hanrahan. “I never saw anyone get pulled under by a lakelurk and come back up. Even if you kill the one that grabs you, they pull you into deep water so you’ll drown anyway.”

“Jee-hosaphat! Maybe I don’t want them swimming lessons after all.”

Razz almost looked like he might be smiling. And his voice sounded perfectly friendly as he said, “Fucking hick. Don’t you have ‘lurks where you come from?”

“No, not really. Our farm ain’t inside the Gecked Lands, but it’s close enough so we don’t get too many critters.”

“Must be nice.”

They both fell silent as the tent flap opened and Mags strode in. O’Hanrahan looked at her, looked back at Razz, and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

“Fucking goddamn,” Razz grumbled. “Hey, Mags.”

“Friendlier,” O’Hanrahan prompted.

Razz crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. She looked back and forth between the two of them in confusion.

“Hey, guys...everything...okay?”

“This fucking side of beef says you can sew,” Razz snapped. “Is that true?”

“Is that ‘friendlier’?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“ _Yes_.”

“Razz...”

“Fuck,” Razz groaned. “Mags, I can’t sew for shit. Can you...help?” He glanced at O’Hanrahan, who motioned for him to keep going. “Ugh! Please.”

“Okay, let me see.” She picked up the discarded pants and found the needle stuck through the seam. “Well, there’s your problem. This is a yarn needle. Hang on, let me get my sewing kit.”

“Sewing kit? Who the fuck carries around a sewing kit?”

“Seamstresses. Costume designers. People who tear their pants a lot.” She pulled an old tin box from under her bunk and rummaged through it. “The place where I worked in Reno specialized in costumes, and...shit, you wouldn’t believe the wear and tear on all those veils. Here, this should do the trick.” She held a slim silver needle out to Razz, who made no move to take it.

“That? It’s tiny!”

“It’s the right tool for the job.”

“It’s _tiny_ ,” he insisted. “How are you supposed to get the thread in that tiny little hole? It’s fucking impossible.”

“For fuck’s sake, Private.” She picked up the pants, licked the loose end of the thread, and threaded the needle herself. “There. You want me to sew it up for you, too?”

“Are you...offering?”

Mags tried to look annoyed, but then—she didn’t exactly smile, didn’t change her expression at all as far as O’Hanrahan could see, but a dimple appeared at the side of her mouth. He wouldn’t have figured she was the kind of gal who had dimples, but there it was.

She slung her rifle down from her shoulder and held it out to Razz.

“Want to trade a favor for a favor? My rifle needs cleaning.”

Razz was about to say something he ought not to. O’Hanrahan could tell just from the way he held his head. But he decided against it and took the AR-15 without a word. Mags sat on his bunk next to him, and started stitching up the pants like there was nothing to it.

“So—costumes, huh?” Razz asked.

“You might want to think twice about what you say to me while I’m holding something sharp,” she warned.

He looked at the needle and just snorted.

“I can be creative,” she said sweetly.

“I believe you,” said Razz. He didn’t sound concerned, but he also didn’t say whatever else was on his mind.

But now O’Hanrahan was curious.

“Were you a stage actress?”

“An actress?” She laughed. “You really are pure as the driven snow, aren’t you?”

“Thanks, I think.” He was getting kind of tired of folks saying nice things, but not meaning them as compliments.

Razz had pulled out the magazine and cleared the last round from the chamber, all according to regulations. Now he paused, looking at Mags.

“What, you really were a whore?” he asked, without the snide edge he’d always had when he’d said such things to her in the past. “I was just being a dick before when I kept talking shit about you. Um...” He glanced at O’Hanrahan, who tried to look encouraging. “Sorry?”

“It’s not like it hurt my feelings. I did grow up in a brothel.” She nudged him with her elbow. “That rifle’s not going to clean itself, private. And put a tarp down. I’ll do your mending, but I don’t do laundry.”

Razz hesitated. O’Hanrahan watched them both carefully, wondering if he was going to act like a dang fool and stop taking her orders. From the look of her, Mags was wondering, too. But Razz just shrugged and spread an old newspaper across his lap, and got back to work. Mags relaxed, and even smiled, and got back to it with her needle and thread.

That was a heck of a thing to see. The squad really was getting on better, like friends.

“Have you ever been to New Reno?” Mags asked.

“I passed through it once. Didn’t have time to stop.”

“That’s too bad. You’d like it. Brothels as far as the eye can see. And chems and gambling, of course.”

Razz shot her a look like he wasn’t sure if he should get mad at that, but Mags didn’t notice.

“Get into one of those three lines of work, and you can always find something to do in Reno,” she went on. “I could have had a good career, but by the time Madame Z decided I was old enough to do more than scrub floors and keep the books, I’d figured out that it wasn’t the life I wanted. I mean, it’s kind of boring, you know? And you have to act like you like people, if you want to make your caps. I’m not exactly the best at faking it.”

Razz laughed. O’Hanrahan did, too. Mags had better manners than Razz, or Poindexter for that matter, but it had taken her a long time to really warm up to her own squadmates, even after they’d been living and working together for months. He could just picture her trying to sweet-talk a total stranger. She’d keep her temper, but it would be a struggle, especially if they were the type to try to get away with what they ought not to. Mags didn’t have much patience for foolishness.

“You joined the army because you were bored?” Razz asked.

“No, actually I signed on with the Van Graffs as a caravan guard. I was all ready to go, when a couple of soldiers on leave decided to rough up one of my friends, so I threw them out on their asses. Twenty minutes later, their sergeant showed up in a cloud of cigar smoke. Bit the damn thing in half when he saw the ‘little honey’ who beat his men. I thought he was going to throw me in jail, but he turned out to be with the recruitment office.” She finished sewing up the last rip and tied off the thread with a nod of satisfaction. “What made you join up?”

“Oh...I don’t have a story. Just needed a change. How about you, farm boy?”

O’Hanrahan knew there _had_ to be a story there. After the Legion, fighting the Fiends was the biggest thing the army was there for. Wouldn’t nobody go straight from one to the other without a darn good reason. But he could also see from the way Razz was suddenly applying himself to swabbing out the gun barrel, he didn’t want to talk about it. Well, the man had a right to his privacy—and when it came to talking about his family, O’Hanrahan didn’t have to be asked twice.

“There’s been a drought up north these last few years. All them bad harvests wiped out my folks’ savings. And they weren’t the only ones. Honest farmers are hurting so bad they’re turning to raiding like they ain’t done since I was a young ‘un. It ain’t likely things’ll get easier for a while yet. And I got two little sisters with real bright futures, but it takes caps to get where they’re going. Here, this is them.” He handed over the picture Hex had sent, of the two of them gussied up in their Sunday best.

“ _Little_ sisters,” Mags said under her breath, smiling, as she took the picture from him. Even without anything else in the shot to give a sense of their height, it was plain to see that his sisters were of good strong farmer stock, nothing puny about them.

She flipped the picture and scanned the caption. “Bell and...Hex? That short for something?”

“Bell’s short for Annabell.” O’Hanrahan let out a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “And Hex, well, it ain’t short for something as such.”

“I sense a story,” Mags said with a sly look at Razz.

O’Hanrahan felt his ears heat. He didn’t exactly love telling this particular story, but it’d come up before. At least the embarrassment in retelling made for good atonement.

“Well, see, when I was seven and Annabell was three, I told her hell was a bad word, and she oughtta say heck instead. I mean, I told her all the other bad ones, too, but that ain’t the important bit.”

“Go on...”

“Aw—shucks, it ain’t my proudest moment,” O’Hanrahan said, knowing his whole face had started to go pink, “but I spent weeks scarin’ the tar out of her about how little girls who swore got carried off by the devil when the sun went down. Talkin’ bout Old Scratch’s long black claws and how he’d grab her ankles some night when she went to the outhouse. I had her believing he’d eat her up if she so much as _thought_ a bad word.”

O’Hanrahan almost looked away from their faces in shame but forced himself not to. A man had to own up to his sins, even the ones he’d committed as a brat. “Well, when the youngest come along a few months later, my Ma named her Helen. But there wasn’t anything we could do to get Bell to call her by her name ‘cause it had hell in it. So...”

“’Heck.’ Hex,” Mags finished. “That’s adorable.”

“Pretty sure Bell ain’t still sore at me about it, but Hex thinks it’s funny ‘bout bein’ a curse without bein’ a curse word.”

“Hell is a bad word where you come from?” Razz asked.

“Not everyone is a foulmouthed miscreant like you,” said Mags.

“Miss what?”

“Just look at the picture.” She handed it over, so he looked.

“Sisters, huh? Your story checks out. The tall one looks just like you.”

“Oh, now! There ain’t no cause to insult the poor girl.” He meant it as a joke. He knew he was a rough-looking fella as it was, and he knew he sure wouldn’t win no beauty contests—that was all. But it looked like Razz took him seriously.

“I just meant—Was that a bad thing?” he asked Mags. “They’re cute, okay? Your sisters are cute.”

Cute, was it? The both of ‘em? He didn’t think anybody had ever said such a thing about his Annabell. _He_ thought she was the bee’s knees, looks and all, but the fellas back home never had eyes for a little gal who was six and a half feet tall, with a lantern jaw and shoulders like a brahmin bull.

Maybe she did look a little something like her big brother, at that.

And if she looked like him…

“Are you saying _I’m_ cute, Razz?”

“What? No! I didn’t say that!”

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Mags said, with a wry smile. “Who doesn’t want to have a pair of big, strong, beefy arms around them on a lonely night?” Her eyebrows bobbed up and down suggestively on almost every word, laying it on pretty darn thick. Even so, Razz had to stare at her for a few seconds before he figured out she was teasing.

“You’re an asshole!” He didn’t sound angry for once. Just surprised. Mags laughed.

“That’s what you get for being a dick.” She reached out like she wanted to ruffle his hair. But Razz’s hair didn’t ruffle, so she patted the spikes instead. “Wow, pointy. What do you put in this, anyway?”

“Wonderglue. It’s the only thing that holds.”

“Huh.” She poked at it again. “Well, it works, anyway. And how do you get it purple? I tried to go brunette once, but the dye was a couple hundred years out of date and my hair...melted. I had to cut it all off.”

“How the fuck long did you leave it in?”

“I followed the directions, so about as long as it’s taking you to clean my rifle.” Mags looked at Razz’s lap and straightened up like she’d just remembered she was supposed to be their superior officer, not their friend. “I expect that done by the time you’re off your next shift.”

Razz sighed and went back to his task. “Yes, corporal.”

* * *

Guard duty was as dull as ever, but now that Razz was actually talking to him—with more variation than just “fuck off,” that is—it was a lot more pleasant. Even when there was a silence between them, it was nice and comfortable and didn’t make a fella feel a bit unwelcome.

So while Razz practiced writing out his alphabet O’Hanrahan kept watch, and everything was all right. There might be nothing alive out there but a little black bird sitting on a fence post, but he wasn’t bored. Things were peaceful. Peaceful was good

“A is for apple,” Razz said to himself, pencil skritch-scratching across the page. “Lame. B is for beer. C is for...O’Hanrahan, what starts with C?”

“Crow,” he suggested. Razz looked up, noticed the bird, and shook his head in disgust.

“Fucking crows. Not even worth the trouble. Not enough meat.”

“What? You can’t eat crows, Razz! They’re smart!”

“Yeah, I know. I used to lay down snares around my place, and in the morning I’d find them all pecked to pieces. The little fuckers even helped my squirrels get away.”

“No, I mean it ain’t _right_ to eat something that smart. They talk to each other, and they can remember people’s faces.”

“Yeah, okay. You’d still eat one if you were starving,” Razz said with a shrug.

“Not a crow,” O’Hanrahan insisted. And when Razz still looked skeptical, he stretched out a hand toward the crow and let out a low whistle. “Here, fella,” he called. “Who’s a pretty bird? Come on over and make friends.”

“It’s a fucking bird, it can’t understand—“

Razz’s mouth slammed shut as the crow took to the air with bird’s natural suddenness, and flapped over to light on O’Hanrahan’s outstretched wrist.

“Well, hello, friend,” O’Hanrahan said in his talking-to-birds voice, while Razz stared.

“How the fuck did you—“

“Shush, Razz! Don’t scare him away.” Birds didn’t always come when he called. It might be a long time before he had another chance to hold one. He ran one finger down the bird’s feathers, which made it real happy, he could tell.

“What— _how_?” Razz sputtered.

“I told you, crows can remember folks they’ve met before. ‘Specially folks who keep their pockets full of corn.”

“Do I want to know why you keep your pockets full of corn?” Razz asked.

“To feed the crows with, of course.”

“Fuck,” Razz groaned. “Of _course_ you waste perfectly good food on dumb animals.”

“I don’t! I only give ‘em the pieces people can’t eat.” Well, most of the time, anyhow.

Razz didn’t look convinced. He glared at the crow like it was stealing food from right off his plate. The bird looked back at him with one bright black eye, and opened its beak in the crows’ version of a toothy grin.

Razz huffed.

Then, reluctantly, he asked, “Can I touch it?”

“He might let you, if you’re gentle.”

“Gentle,” Razz repeated. “How do I...how do I do that?”

“Oh, it ain’t so hard,” O’Hanrahan encouraged. “Just move real slow and try not to startle him. You might talk to him, too, just to show him you don’t mean no harm.”

“Talk to the bird. Sure. Hey...bird,” he said. “You, uh...you sure are a bird.” He stretched out his hand and stroked the tip of one finger down the crow’s feathers. “Hey! It’s letting me.”

“Caw!” The crow gave his hand a hard peck and took off for the open sky.

“You piece of shit, I’ll fucking eat you next time!” Razz yelled after it.

O’Hanrahan wanted to laugh, but he worried that might hurt Razz’s feelings.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “They’re still wild animals. They ain’t so easy to tame. How bad did it get you?”

“It’s fine,” Razz grumbled.

Well, that might be, but he could see it was bleeding some. He took Razz’s hand and pulled it to him for a closer look.

“I said it’s fine,” Razz repeated, kind of quiet this time.

“Oh, sure, but it can’t hurt to take a look. Them crows have real sharp beaks on ‘em.” Luckily, it didn’t seem to have gotten him too deep.

Razz’s hands were the ordinary size, so smaller than O’Hanrahan’s by a good bit. They were strong, though, all callouses and scars. O’Hanrahan was still sure Razz was wrong about not having any niceness in him, but there sure wasn’t anything soft.

“How’d you get so hard?” O’Hanrahan asked without quite thinking about it.

Razz’s eyes widened. Then he started to shake with silent laughter.

“I meant your hand,” O’Hanrahan protested.

“I know you did, you dingus. It wouldn’t be funny if you said shit like that on purpose.”

“Well, I suppose… It wasn’t so _very_ funny, was it?”

“It’s...” Razz made a sound that didn’t much answer the question. “What are you staring at my hand for, anyway? Yours are the same.”

“Well, sure, I got some calluses from farming. I do work for a living, or at least I did when I was at home. But it ain’t the same.” Looking at Razz’s hand up close, he could see the results of years of rough treatment. A shiny burn scar here, a ragged bite mark there. They sure weren’t farmer’s hands. His fingers were crooked, like they'd been busted up and left to heal without getting set right, and O’Hanrahan could feel a long ridge of scar tissue running across the palm. “What’s this?” he asked, curling his fingers against it.

Razz snatched his hand back so quick, O’Hanrahan was sure he’d done something seriously wrong. But then Razz turned his palm up to show him the scar. There was a matching one crossing the inside of his fingers.

“Some asshole came at me with a hunting knife,” he said, looking at his hand and not at O’Hanrahan. “I had to grab it by the blade to keep him off me.”

“See, now, that’s what I mean. You’ve survived a lot. If a fella tried that on me, I don’t reckon I’d live to tell the tale.”

“You’re not that much of a wimp,” said Razz. It was supposed to be encouraging, and that was nice, but it didn’t do a thing to change the facts. He was a wimp, or a coward, or whatever you wanted to call it. Even Pa said so.

Razz curled his hand into a loose fist and then released it, thinking. Then he looked up. There was a look in his eyes O'Hanrahan hadn’t seen before, but it was hard to say exactly what it was.

“Do you know what a shark is?” Razz asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “They live in the ocean. They’re mostly teeth.” He turned his hand again to show off a particularly nasty-looking scar where a whole chunk had been taken out of his wrist. “I let one corner me in the ruins once. And I didn’t have _you_ around back then, so I almost bled out before I could get away.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry...”

“Why? I lived. Anyway, dumbass, the point is you’re tougher than you act. You probably could have gotten through without all this,” he said, with a gesture that took in the layers of scars.

“Are you trying to make me feel better, Razz?” O’Hanrahan asked. “’Cause that’s awful nice of you.”

“Stop saying I’m nice!” Razz snapped. “I’m not being nice!”

“All right. It’s just, if I’m tougher than I act, maybe you’re nicer than you act, that’s all.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Razz muttered. He didn’t really sound like he meant it. “Shouldn’t you be keeping watch?”

“Shouldn’t _you_ be working on your alphabet?”

“I was, until you distracted me with your spooky witch powers.” He picked up his paper and pencil and got back to it.

“I ain’t a witch,” said O’Hanrahan. “Just ‘cause birds like me. That’s just friendliness.” He turned his attention back to the horizon, but of course, nothing had changed.

At least, nothing had changed _out there._ He could still feel the warmth of Razz’s hand in his, and just being that close to him for those few seconds had his heart thumping faster than anything else could account for. He sure did have a case of botheration, and it wasn’t looking to go away, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because his disposition indicates he escaped from a Disney movie, O'Hanrahan has the animal friend perk. Sorry, I don't make the rules.


	4. ...D, you're a darling...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Advisories** : ableist language

Night duties were rotated between squads, with nobody having to stay up twice in a row. This time it was Mags and Dex’s turn to doze at the guard post overnight, leaving Razz and O’Hanrahan alone in the tent. Maybe they ought to have gotten some sleep, since they had to get up in the morning—the mess hall was only stocked for an hour after dawn, and an O’Hanrahan never missed breakfast. Besides, even though this wasn’t one of the days when the whole company assembled for PT, he and Razz hadn’t missed one of their morning runs yet.

But this was too good an opportunity to pass up.

“You want to get some reading done tonight?” he asked when the two of them were alone. “You know your letters good enough by now, you might take a crack at my _Lad’s Life_.” It was no _McGuffey’s Reader_ , but most of the wording was easier than the magazines for grown folks, and there were some real exciting stories that might catch Razz’s interest.

“I’ll help you as much as you need, of course,” he added, when Razz didn’t answer.

“You’re not going to sleep? Isn’t it past your bedtime or something?”

“Well, I reckon I do turn in early most nights,” he agreed. “But you’re always up ‘til all hours, ain’t you? And it wouldn’t be right to abandon you now, after I promised I’d help you see this through.”

“Oh, gee whiz, thanks.” Somehow, he didn’t sound quite sincere.

“You’re welcome, buddy!” O’Hanrahan could say it like he meant it, even if Razz wouldn’t do the same.

Magazine in hand, O’Hanrahan sprawled across Razz’s bunk. Razz wedged himself into the corner with a huff.

“Fine, I’ll try to read the damn thing. Just...don’t expect too much.”

“I know you’ll do your best.” He turned on his side to make more room. “Don’t you want to get comfortable?”

“No! I mean, I _am_ comfortable. Just give me that!” He swiped the _Lad’s Life_ and sat, trying to burn holes in it with his eyes.

“I’ll get off your bed if you want me to,” O’Hanrahan offered.

“Oh, shut up!” Razz threw himself flat on his back, next to O’Hanrahan, and kept staring at the magazine’s cover.

“The best stories are on the inside,” O’Hanrahan suggested.

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Oh, gosh,” O’Hanrahan said, eyeing the way Razz was gripping the paper. He looked awful tense. “Razz, buddy, you ain’t scared, are you?”

“Fuck no I’m not scared! What would I be scared of? Fuck you.”

“You said that already.” He got up and dug around under his own bunk until he came up with two Sunset Sarsaparillas and the box of lemon candies the girls had sent him. “Here, you’ll feel better if you get some sugar in you.”

“I _said_ I’m fine,” Razz muttered, but he took a candy anyway. “Does Mags know you keep sarsaparillas under your bed?”

“Does she know about your beer stash?” O’Hanrahan countered. The answer was probably yes to both. Neither of them was good about remembering to clean up their empty bottles. “Anyhow, ‘scared’ ain’t exactly the word I meant. Just maybe you don’t feel ready, that’s all. There’s some difference between knowing what sounds the letters make, and being able to string them all together.”

“Yeah,” Razz said, but he said it like he was wary of a trap.

“Maybe this once, I can read out loud and you can follow along. Then you might feel easier about it next time.”

Razz thought about it. Then without a word, he handed the magazine back to O’Hanrahan.

Presuming that to be a yes, O’Hanrahan stretched out next to his buddy on the cot—as much as he could stretch out on something that was already too small for one. He had to sleep on his side with his knees bent, else his feet would hang off the end. O’Hanrahan wasn’t sure how Razz would take to him lying so close, but they both had some sarsaparilla and stayed where they were. It was nice.

O’Hanrahan skipped past the letters column and read the title of the first story: “I Rode a Stingray! A thousand furies roared outside and beat at the sleek metal shell with gigantic hammers of sound but mystical quiet prevailed within as we sped through space.” That whole thing was the title, and he never would have been able to get through speaking it aloud if he hadn’t read the story a dozen times already.

“What...the fuck...does _any_ of that mean?” Razz demanded.

“Well now...I don’t know. But the rest of the story makes sense, I swear. It’s about this writer fella taking a test flight in an Air Force jet.”

“What’s an Air Force?”

“It was a lot like the Army, I think, except they fought in the sky.”

“You’re making that up,” Razz exclaimed.

“I ain’t! There was also a Navy, that fought in the water, and the Marines, that—I ain’t sure _what_ they did, but they seem to’ve been real good at it.”

“Shit,” said Razz. And that expressed about all it needed to.

“Want to keep reading?”

“Yeah...if you want. I don’t care.”

“All right, then. ‘She crouched there on the ramp, nose down and tail high, looking strangely like a monstrous mechanical cat preparing to spring.’”

“A _what_?”

O’Hanrahan had to stop the story to explain cats, Uncle Sam, Boy Scouts, catapult ejection seats, and air conditioning, none of which he’d ever heard of outside the pages of _Lad’s Life_. There was also a bit about ‘Satan’s creatures in full cry, beseeching release in maniacal chorus,’ which was a little easier to explain, although he never could figure out what the Bad ‘Un was doing in a jet engine. There were certain things the old magazines just couldn’t make clear to a fella living in the modern world.

He started another story about a little man who rassled a bear. Razz didn’t interrupt that one as much, and toward the end of it his head dropped to rest on O’Hanrahan’s shoulder. It took a powerful lot of concentration after that not to stumble over his words.

O’Hanrahan finished the story, just in case Razz was still listening. It’d have been rude to leave a fella hanging in the middle of a life-or-death bear fight, even if he weren’t conscious. When he was through, O’Hanrahan laid the magazine face down on his chest and looked over at his buddy.

“Razz,” he whispered. “You awake?”

All he heard was steady breathing. Oh, gee.

He really ought to go climb into his own bunk before Mags and Dex got back. They’d be full of questions, and Razz wouldn’t like it. But he felt so warm and peaceful right where he was. And he didn’t think he could get up without waking Razz.

“Razz?” he whispered again. Still no answer.

Well, there was nothing for it. He slipped his free hand under Razz’s shoulder, trying to lift him enough to free the part of his arm that was pinned.

“Fuck!” Suddenly wide awake, Razz rolled away from him, clear off the bed, a switchblade flashing open in his hand. It came just short of taking a slice out of O’Hanrahan’s arm.

“Holy smokes, Razz! Do you sleep with a knife under your pillow?”

“Yeah.” He blinked, shrugged, and straightened up from his crouch. “Don’t you?”

O’Hanrahan shook his head, eyes glued to the knife.

“You don’t? How do you sleep?” Hesitantly, he held the knife out to O’Hanrahan, hilt-first. “Do you need to borrow one? I have more.”

“Thank you, no, I have a knife, I just don’t sleep with it.”

“So what do you do if something comes at you in the middle of the night? Kill it with your bare hands? What am I saying, of course you do.”

“No!” He searched Razz’s face for any sign that he was joking, but Razz looked as confused as O’Hanrahan felt. “I’ve never had nothing try to kill me in my sleep—except raiders, but they always made enough noise to rouse the household. How could you ever get any rest if you was always afraid of something creeping up on you?”

“You keep a knife, and don’t ever sleep too deep.”  


“Golly, that don’t sound restful.” It finally occurred to him that he ought to give the bed to its rightful owner, so he got up. “Sorry for wakin’ you in such an unmannerly fashion.”

“Eh,” said Razz. “I’m—uh—you know—glad I didn’t cut you. I wouldn’t do that on purpose.”

“I never thought you would.” He couldn’t help chuckling. “But I gotta admit, I don’t feel so tired after nearly getting my arm chopped off.”

“Want to keep reading?” Razz was a shade too eager to convince anyone that he was going to be forced into it, but O’Hanrahan didn’t comment on that.

“It’d be my pleasure.”

“No, I meant...” Razz snapped the switchblade closed, tucked it away back under the pillow, and hauled himself back up on the bed. “I meant me. Read. I’ll read.”

“Well, that’s just fine!” He was as surprised as he was pleased. After this little dust-up, O’Hanrahan would have thought the lesson was a wash. He’d have been happy to keep reading himself, to sort of ease his buddy into it, but Razz volunteering was more than he could’ve hoped for.

Razz got himself situated back on the bed, leaving plenty of room for O’Hanrahan to settle down beside him. This time they both got into positions where there would be no heads resting on any shoulders, but that was probably for the best. O’Hanrahan smoothed the magazine out and offered it to Razz. He took it by the corner with two fingers, like he was afraid it’d bite him.

“Where, uh, where should I start?”

“Oh, ‘bout anywhere’s fine for practice, I reckon.” O’Hanrahan reached over to thumb the cover open so Razz wouldn’t be stuck staring at it, trying to make himself do it. He looked less intimidated by the Boy Scout ad on the inside. “But if you want to read a story, best start with one of them pages with big words at the top.”

“Okay. Yeah. Sure. I can do that.” As Razz flipped the pages, they got wordier and wordier. The creeping dread stole back over his face, slow but sure. That was no good.

“’Course, it’s getting pretty late,” O’Hanrahan said, careful not to sound like he noticed, or that he was doing anything at all to relieve the pressure. He gave his best dramatic yawn, covering his mouth with the back of his hand so the ghosts wouldn’t get in, even though he wasn’t sure a fake yawn was likely to attract them. “Might be better to stick to something short.”

“Nothing in here looks short to _me_ ,” Razz muttered, scanning the pages with a growing scowl.

“There’s the joke column. Page twenty-eight.” Like the other magazines he’d had in his footlocker since basic, he knew this one like the back of his hand from half-readings over months. “There—right there, you passed it.”

Razz flipped back a few pages and stopped on _Giggles and Grins_. Each joke was separated up on the page, perfect for reading one here and there without getting overwhelmed. “This?”

“Yeah! Pick one. Give it a try.”

He looked at O’Hanrahan, then the magazine, then back and forth a couple times, working up his nerve. When he finally got down to it, the words came out halting. “To pro-tect him-self from the cold wind a...”

Razz looked his way, helpless in the face of the longest string of letters on the page. O’Hanrahan peeked at the next word. “Motorcyclist.”

“—motorcyclist stopped for a mo-ment and put his coat on back-wards.”

O’Hanrahan nodded his approval. “Go on.”

“Short-ly af-ter start-ing out a-gain he crashed in-to the rear end of a parked truck. When the po-lice—“ Razz put his finger on the page. “—What’s that word?”

“Questioned.”

“—questioned the truck dri-ver, he…?”

“Explained.”

“—explained, ‘By the time I got his head turned a-round he was dead.’”

O’Hanrahan clapped him on the shoulder. “Try it all together now that you know what it says.”

So, he did. Then, Razz made a _heh_ sound. “He snapped the guy’s neck. And this is a joke for little pre-war kiddies? That’s fuckin’ dark.”

“It sure is,” O’Hanrahan agreed uneasily. “S’matter of fact, that joke was wrote _by_ one of them little pre-war kiddies. See there at the bottom of the page, it tells the readers to send in their best material. Funniest ones would get published in the next month’s issue.”

“Kids are fucking monsters.” Razz looked delighted at the thought.

“You, uh...want to read another one?”

“Do I!”

The rest of the jokes weren’t going to be nearly so gruesome, but O’Hanrahan didn’t tell him so. How could he, when Razz looked _excited_ to read for the first time?

He went back to the magazine, and started to read again. “’Teacher: What are the...”

“Er...” O’Hanrahan looked at the word that was hanging Razz up, _Phoenicians_ , and tried to pronounce it. “Phoney-shuns,” he said, with a frown. “I think. I ain’t never heard that word said out loud before.”

“Well, la-dee-fuckin’-dah, look who doesn’t know everything.”

“Oh, hush up and read, Razz.”

Still smirking, Razz started over. “’Teacher: What are the Phoney-shuns known for? Stu-dent: Blinds.’” He let the magazine droop. “I don’t get it.”

“Me neither,’ O’Hanrahan admitted. “Try another one.”

They went on like that for awhile, through all the joke pages and a couple other regular Lad’s Life features, until O’Hanrahan was yawning around his encouragements and corrections.

“You falling asleep on me, O’Hanrahan?”

The poke of Razz’s elbow in his ribs made his eyes pop open. “Heck no.” He draped himself across Razz’s back. “ _Now_ I’m falling asleep on you.”

“You dumbass, you’re about as funny as these kids.”

“Keep readin’, Razz. I ain’t fallin’ asleep.”

But he was. And, by the time Razz finished up the page he’d been working on and started in on the ‘Whittler’s Corner,’ he did.

* * *

O’Hanrahan woke up before Reveille. That was nothing new. But he woke up warm and comfy on Razz’s cot, half on top of the poor fella.

“Razz,” he hissed in the near-dark, careful to keep his voice down so the other lumps in their cots couldn’t hear.

No response. Razz was fast asleep with their issue of Lad’s Life crumpled up under his face. Had they dozed off together? Or had Razz tried to get out from under him and given up?

O’Hanrahan moved to get up, but found himself all tangled up in something. A blanket? Somebody must have tossed one over them in the night. Or maybe Razz had pulled it up on ‘em before he passed out.

He wriggled out of the blanket and landed in a crouch beside the cot. Razz stirred, rolled over and muttered at the tent wall. Sounded like something about hogging the covers, but in words that’d make a raider blush. O’Hanrahan straightened out the blanket and spread it over his buddy.

“G’night, Razz,” he said, and patted him on the shoulder.

O’Hanrahan sneaked away to his cot to catch a few more winks before the bugler roused the camp. He fell asleep, trying real hard not to think about how much cozier he’d been when he wasn’t alone.

* * *

Breakfast in the army wasn’t anything fancy, and it sure didn’t hit the spot like Ma’s griddle cakes, but at least there was a lot of it. O’Hanrahan, still used to keeping a farmer’s hours, was up and ready before the sun. He was always among the first to arrive in the mess tent.

The rest of his squad straggled in well after sunup, yawning and dragging their feet, to take their seats around him in near-silence. He’d almost finished by then, but he stuck around, like he usually did, to wait for them all to wake up.

Mags had a breakfast that was mostly coffee. It wasn’t too long before she was awake and talking in sentences. Dex wasn’t too far behind her, complaining about the quality of the powdered eggs. He always found his voice when there was something to complain about.

That just left Razz, and from the dark circles under his eyes and the way he seemed more interested in staring at the food on the end of his fork than in actually raising it to his mouth, it would take more than one cup of coffee to get him going this morning. O’Hanrahan decided to leave him alone. He’d learned better than to say too much to his friends in the mornings unless they started talking first.

“I’ll eat your eggs for you if you don’t want ‘em,” he said to Dex.

“Hmm. It would be unethical to attempt to foist off onto you an item that I already believe to be inedible.” And he took a bite, making a face as he chewed.

“If you say so, Dex.” O’Hanrahan smiled. His ma used to ask him to pull that same trick on the girls to get them to finish their vegetables. They’d eat anything if they thought their big brother was trying to take it from them.

“We’re joining C-squad for practice maneuvers today,” Mags said, after she’d finished off her second cup of coffee. “It’s a simple capture the flag operation. O’Neill and his group are expecting to leave us in the dust, but I’ve been looking over their results from the last few weeks, and Poindexter, _no_.”

Dex froze in the act of opening a packet of black pepper. He looked guiltily at Razz, who had dozed off with his fork in midair, his free hand propping his head up, but just barely. He’d fall right over at the slightest little push.

“I wasn’t going to—All right, yes, I was.” He put down the pepper.

“Wake him up _politely_ ,” said Mags.

“Where’s the fun in that? Only joking,” he was quick to add when she started to look severe. He reached for Razz’s shoulder.

“Oh, don’t touch him,” O’Hanrahan warned. “You’re liable to get forked.”

Dex laughed, but instead of shaking him awake, he leaned close to Razz’s ear and barked, “ _Razz_!”

“Fuck, I’m up!” His elbow slipped off the edge of the table, and he knocked over his plate trying to catch himself. Dex had a real hard time trying not to laugh again, but he must have learned a thing or two about dealing with his squadmates first thing in the morning, too, because he kept it inside.

“Are you okay, Razz?” Mags asked. “You’ve been a little...out of it today.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” His attempt at surliness was spoiled by the confused way he was blinking at the table, like he couldn’t quite remember how he’d gotten there or what it was for.

“Shoot, I’m sorry,” O’Hanrahan said without thinking. “It’s my fault you didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

“Goddammit...” Razz sank down in his seat. Dex and Mags both sat up straighter and traded a knowing look.

Well, that answered O’Hanrahan’s question about who put the blanket over them, didn’t it? Too late, he realized some damage control was in order. “Oh, no, I mean—“

“So,” Mags said, lowering her voice, “you two…? Are you…you know?”  


“Fuck,” Razz groaned.

“You mean, are we sparking?” asked O’Hanrahan.

“Fuuuuck.”

“Sparking?” Poindexter repeated. “Is that some sort of rustic idiom for...”

“Courting,” O’Hanrahan explained, happy that he finally knew something Dex didn’t.

Razz pulled his wrap up to cover his entire face, all the way up to the hairline.

“Stop talking to them!” His voice came out almost too muffled to understand.

“Razz, it’s okay,” Mags soothed. “You don’t have to tell anyone anything. But you don’t have to sneak around in the middle of the night, either. I can make sure you two get some alone time during the day, as long as you don’t abuse the privilege.”

“Gosh, thanks, Mags,” O’Hanrahan said, as Razz pressed both hands to his face and wordlessly growled. “It’s awful nice of you, but…”

“But?”

But that wouldn’t do, he didn’t say. There were rules about fraternization within squads. Out in the field, favoring one member because of strong personal feelings could get folks killed. Officers could look the other way with the elite squads, but for enlisted men with poor records like theirs, the army would split them up in a second if that kind of rumor got around.

“It ain’t what you think,” O’Hanrahan said finally, cutting his eyes to Razz. He looked like an animal caught in a trap with no possible way out.

“It ai— _isn’t?_ ” Dex asked.

“Well, for heaven’s sake, we never even took our boots off.” That was the first thing his folks used to look at, because they took the longest to get back on.

Razz’s forehead hit the table, hands clasping the back of his head. And he was still groaning.

“Razz is...” O’Hanrahan sighed. “He don’t want me to tell nobody.”

The groaning got louder. The other two stared.

O’Hanrahan put a hand on his back and patted. “Razz was readin’ to me.”

“What? Why?”

O’Hanrahan looked down at Razz, whose groaning had cut off right quick. He was peeping out of his wrap with anxious eyes. O’Hanrahan didn’t like lying, but a little white one right now didn’t seem like spitting in the Lord’s eye _too_ much.

“Well,” O’Hanrahan began, not daring to look either of his other squadmates in the eye, “Maybe you ain’t noticed, but I’m kind of a dummy.”

Dex snorted and probably started to say something unkind. Mags smacked him in the chest with the back of her hand.

“I ain’t so good at readin’,” O’Hanrahan said. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a complete lie. There were lots of people better at it than he was. “So me and Razz, we been practicing.” Again, not a lie, just not the whole truth. “Last night, we was up late. Reading, nothing else.”

From inside his bundle of wrapping, Razz’s eyes widened.

“Aren’t you always writing your family?” Mags looked a bit suspicious, but not enough to worry him.

“More practicing,” O'Hanrahan insisted, trying not to sound too stubborn or like he wanted to will them into believing the lie. “I practice lots.”

“And you’re sure there’s nothing else?” Dex asked. His snickering had died down. “That’s something of a disappointment.”

“Shut up, Poindexter,” said Mags. “It’s nice these two are helping each other out. I notice _you’_ _re_ not working to improve yourself—”

“All right, all right! Every time these two do anything, _I_ get into trouble.”

O’Hanrahan went back to his breakfast, while Mags started in on Dex about his lack of initiative. Razz tunneled out of his wrap, still shooting concerned glances their direction, but returned to nursing his coffee and picking at the part of his breakfast that hadn’t gone onto the floor.

When he was sure the other two weren’t paying them any mind, O’Hanrahan reached over under the table to give Razz’s forearm a reassuring squeeze. Razz looked up at him; he nodded with a little smile. Their real secret was safe and they weren’t in any trouble. Bullet dodged.

* * *

On the way out of the mess tent, Razz snagged him by the arm and hung back behind the other two. “Do you know what they think we’re doing?”

“Of course. They think we’re readin’.”

“ _No_ , you dipshit. You really think they believed you? You’re the worst liar I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh...so they do think we’re sparking?”

“They think we’re _fucking_.”

“Well, that, too.” That wasn’t a real nice way to say it, but he didn’t expect he’d be able to break Razz of his bad language even if he tried. “So long as they don’t think you can’t read, I don’t see the problem.”

“Jesus fuck,” Razz sighed. “Look, you know, there’s more to it than just holding hands and—I don’t know, frolicking through a meadow. Whatever the fuck a meadow is.”

“Oh, golly, Razz! Do you think I don’t know about relations?” He laughed.

Razz looked downright thunderstruck.

“You call it _relations_?”

“Well, sure, marital relations, but I figured out a long time ago you don’t have to be married to do it.” He chuckled again. “And frolicking through a meadow ain’t a bad way to begin. Holding hands is pretty nice, too.” He held out his hand to Razz, who colored up and turned away.

“Holding hands,” he repeated, and stuffed both of his into his pockets. “For shit’s sake. How much do you know about it? I thought you were a sheltered little pumpkin.”

“Well, shucks, Razz, I’m a _farmer_. We breed livestock. Reckon I know more about it than some city folk. And you don’t shelter pumpkins,” he added. “They have to be out in the sun and air, else they won’t grow.”

Ahead of them, Mags paused just long enough to call back, “Keep up, you two. Maneuvers, remember?”

* * *

C-Squad had a pretty familiar setup: a big fella, a smart fella, a fella who ran his mouth too much, and a nice-looking gal who was a lot more capable than you’d think just to look at her. The only difference was that O’Neill—that was the mouth—was squad leader instead of the gal.

Well, there was one other difference. They had skills, every one of ‘em. They’d have been too good to end up at Camp Golf with the screwups and washouts, except for the attitude problem that got them on the bad side of every officer they ever met.

They didn’t make a whole lot of friends among the enlisted personnel, either. O’Hanrahan was sure they were an all right bunch if you could just get to know them, but O’Hanrahan could tell by the way they looked at him and his team, they felt too superior to get acquainted.

They weren’t any less superior after they captured M-Squad’s flag, and Mags and the others didn’t find themselves any more kindly disposed toward them. O’Hanrahan personally thought it was something to be proud of that he and Mags kept up their defense longer than they ever had before, and if Razz and Dex couldn’t stop arguing long enough to infiltrate the other team’s “fort,” it was their own fault if they got caught at it. He was sure they’d do better next time, but that didn’t help anybody’s black moods as they tramped back to their tent, dusty and defeated.

Fortunately, they were just ahead of the mail cart.

No one in the squad got as many letters as O’Hanrahan, but Mags still kept in touch with her girl friends back in Reno, and twice a month Dex got something on pale blue paper that smelled like a field of flowers. Razz was the only one who never got anything.

So when the cart rattled into the tent, Razz stayed where he was while the rest of them clustered around Corporal Riley. (It must be nice to be the clerk in charge of the mail, O’Hanrahan thought, and have folks that glad to see you everywhere you went.)

“O’Hanrahan, Poindexter, Mags,” Riley said, handing each of them a package wrapped up in newspaper and twine. “Hey, do you guys know a Razz?”

“Razz?” Mags repeated.

O’Hanrahan looked over at his buddy, who didn’t seem to have heard.

“Razz, you got a package.”

“What?” His head jerked up, and O’Hanrahan was pretty sure if there’d been anything in his hands, it would have gone flying.

“Package,” said Mags. She passed it over to him, and he took it carefully, handling it like it might turn out to be alive.

“Are you sure?” He peered down at the address in the corner, then up at O’Hanrahan with a look of panic.

Well, he couldn’t very well go over there and read the return address to him, not without letting the other two in on what he was doing. But there were four packages, one for each of them, all wrapped up just the same, and the one in _his_ hand said it was from Mrs. Ezra O’Hanrahan.

“What are you all doing getting packages from my ma?” he asked. Not that he minded a bit, but he couldn’t think of a better way to get Razz the information. This keeping secrets business sure was a lot of trouble.

“I can’t imagine,” said Dex—which confirmed his guess that they’d all come from the same place. “More socks, do you suppose?”

Well, he could laugh. They’d all laughed at the socks he’d given them before, but that didn’t stop all of them from wearing ‘em.

O’Hanrahan opened his package, and found a jar of apple butter and a letter: “Dear son, I thought you might like a taste of home...” There was more, but he’d read it later. The others were looking awful confused.

“What’s apple butter?” Mags asked—not a question he’d ever thought he’d have to answer.

“Why, it’s the best thing that ever come outta my mama’s kitchen, that’s what. Ain’t you never had apple butter?”

“I’ve never had apple anything.”

“Only rich assholes eat fruit,” said Razz. “And...farmers, I guess.”

He’d never thought of that. Up in Oregon territory, everybody had fruit trees in their yards, even in town. But of course all the land to the south was too hot and dry for fruit, with a lot more radiation besides. It’d be real expensive to import the same stuff he used to eat straight off the tree.

Mags opened her jar and gave it a sniff.

“That’s...” She sniffed again. “That’s fruit, all right.” Still taking in the scent, she opened her letter and read, “’Dear Mags, I know how hard it is to be a leader a passel of young hooligans. I taught school in my younger days. But don’t get discouraged. Here is something to keep your spirits up.’ Oh, that’s sweet. What did she write to you, Dex?”

“’Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest.’” He frowned. “What...what does that mean?”

“Well, it’s from the Bible. Galatians,” O’Hanrahan explained. “It means don’t give up.” It really meant don’t be lazy, but he wasn’t going to say that. Ma liked to instill moral lessons sometimes in folks who weren’t hers to teach.

“How about you, Razz?” Mags asked.

“Oh...you know. Same thing. Don’t give up and shit.” He crumpled up his letter like he didn’t care to look at it. But then he stuffed it into his pocket instead of throwing it away. When they got some time to themselves, he’d be able to read it without being self-conscious about the difficulty. O’Hanrahan would be sure to offer to help him with the harder words.

* * *

“Dee-yar...”

“That’s ‘dear,’” O’Hanrahan said.

“What? Why? Why would there be an A in that?”

“I dunno. There just is.”

“Shit,” Razz muttered. “And why is she calling me dear? I’m not a dear.”

“You are so,” O’Hanrahan said, and then faltered, seeing Razz’s face start to turn red. Was he getting mad again? “It ain’t a bad thing...That’s how you always start a letter.”

“Oh.” The color in his face couldn’t stop rising on such short notice, but Razz looked down at the paper again. That was enough to tell O’Hanrahan he wasn’t going to knock his block off. “Dear—“

“Razz,” O’Hanrahan said helpfully, leaning over Razz’s shoulder to read along.

Razz snatched the paper away out of his reach. Or tried to, anyhow. “I know my own name, dumbshit!”

“All right, Razz.” O’Hanrahan’s hands rose to show he hadn’t meant any harm. “Got carried away. I’m sorry.”

“Did I ask for an apology? Jesus.” The paper snapped crisply in Razz’s hands. He started again. “Dear Razz...”

* * *

March 29, 2282

Dear Razz,

I hope you will enjoy this apple butter. I make it every year to send to our kin who are far away. My son thinks real highly of you, I know, and when he writes about you in his letters I almost feel like you are one of the family. I hope you will consider yourself so.

Thank you for being a friend to my boy. It eases my heart to know he is not alone.

With kindest regards,

Ma O’Hanrahan

P.S. Come up here for a visit sometime and I will make you a pie.

* * *

“Oh,” Razz said again when they’d finished reading. Then he was quiet.

O’Hanrahan hoped he wasn’t going to take offense to Ma’s opening her door to him. She couldn’t hear about a young fella with no folks to care for him, without wanting to do him a kindness. But Razz didn’t like anyone feeling sorry for him.

He was quiet so long, O’Hanrahan started to think he was too mad even to squall about it.

Then he asked, “What’s a pie?”

“Well, if you make it with fruit, it’s a tasty dessert, or if you make it with meat it’s a real good meal.”

“Make me a pie,” Razz said under his breath. “You’re not...cannibals, are you?”

“Well, not anymore.”

“Fuck, I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“Of course I’m joking. Ma wants to make a pie _for_ you, not _of_ you.”

“Oh,” Razz said yet again. “Why?”

“In case you might like it. Everybody likes pie.”

“Yeah, well, everybody likes whiskey, but you don’t go around getting random strangers drunk.”

“Not everybody likes whiskey,” O’Hanrahan pointed out. Razz didn’t look like he believed him. “Ma’s just bein’ nice.”

“Being nice.” Razz looked back down at the letter, brows knit together like that idea didn’t quite fit in his head. “Should—should I write back?”

“Why, sure!” That came out a mite too excited, so O’Hanrahan toned it down a bit. “If you want to. She’d be glad to hear from you. She loves letters. Here, I’ll get you some scratchin’ paper and a pencil.”

After rustling around in his foot locker for awhile, he came back with the pencil and paper, to find Razz sucking apple butter off the end of his finger.

“Y’know, that’s real good on bread...”

Defiantly, Razz stuck his hand in the jar and scooped out another glob.

“Or I suppose any way you want to do it is fine.” He handed over the writing tools. “Let me know if I can help you with the spelling.”

“I can do it...I think,” said Razz. “At least I could if there weren’t so many damn letters in your name.”

“If ‘O’Hanrahan’ is too much, my friends back home used to call her ‘Hoss’s ma,’” O’Hanrahan suggested. “That’s what my kin calls me—Hoss.”

“Hoss,” Razz repeated doubtfully. “Hoss’s ma. That sounds weird. I’ll just...copy what she signed.” He licked more apple butter off his fingers. “Fuck, that’s some good-ass shit.” He winced, looking more than a little embarrassed. “Don’t worry, I’ll watch my fucking language.” He pulled the paper close and hunched over it so O’Hanrahan couldn’t see what he was doing until he was done. They were lucky Mags and Dex had pulled guard duty again tonight; Razz wouldn’t be done anytime soon.

After what seemed like an hour of grinding the pencil into the paper, Razz flung the letter at O’Hanrahan with a furious scowl.

“I sound like a fucking idiot.”

“No, Razz, it’s real good,” O’Hanrahan said, once he’d looked it over.

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“I’m sure she won’t notice.”

“I think I spelled some of it wrong.”

“Ma won’t mind a bit,” O’Hanrahan promised. “She’ll be happy to get any letter at all. And you wrote it all on your own—you ought to be proud.”

“I write like a dumbass,” Razz insisted. “Isn’t it too short?”

“Razz, your letter is perfect. And my ma will think so, too.”

* * *

**aPRL 21**

**DeaR Ma OhaNRahaN**

**ThaNKs foR The apL buTR. ITs GuD. I NeveR haD apL befoR. oR pIe. oR LeTRs. ITs GuD.**

**~~fRuM Razz~~ **

**YoR suNs fRIND**

**Razz**


	5. ...E, you're exciting...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Advisories** : Alcohol use, harassment

DEAR SON.

IT IS PA. HOW ARE YOU. WE ARE FINE. THE CROPS ALL JUST GOT PUT IN HERE. GONNA BE BIG TATOES THIS YEAR. I THOT TO SEND YALL SOME SEEDS SINCE YOU AINT GOT GOOD ONES DOWN NEVADA WAY. MA SAYS I AM WASTIN TIME CUZ NUTHIN GROWS IN SAND BUT YOU PROVE HER WRONG. SIDES I DO NOT WANT YALL GAMBLIN IN NEW VEGAS ALLATIME WHEN YOU AINT ON BASE. YOU GET A GARDEN GOIN SON IT WILL KEEP YALL FIT IN YOUR OUTFIT. TEACH THEM CITY FOLK HOW.

MA SAYS TO TELL YALL HEX TURNS 18 SOON. JUNE. DONT FORGET. YOU KNOW HOW SHE GETS.

BE GOOD.

PA.

* * *

O’Hanrahan smiled and folded the letter up. Ma had dated it on the back, sometime back in March. Being as it was late May by now, either Pa had been sitting on it a bit longer than he meant to, forgetting to drop it off at the general store in town, or it’d taken the long way to Camp Golf.

It sure was thoughtful of Pa to send all them seeds, even though, truthfully, Ma was right. Nothing much would grow in Nevada without a lot of care, and a fella in the army shouldn’t have that kind of time on his hands, in between drills and training and all the other work.

But life at Camp Golf was mostly what they called self-directed. There were duties assigned to every soldier, but they only took up a portion of the day. There were tests at the end of every month on skills and fitness, and all the ones who failed those had to get together and work under an NCO’s supervision. But if you passed, the army assumed you were already using your time wisely, and left you to your own devices. So maybe he’d be able to get some tatoes to come up, after all.

Discipline was stricter on the other bases, but no one much cared what the Camp Golf rejects got up to. O’Hanrahan sometimes wondered if the troops might not be so hopeless if they got good training and were made to feel that they could get things done right. His team sure had improved from just two good lessons and a pep talk. But he supposed the brass must have a good reason for putting indifferent officers over the weakest troops, and it wasn’t his place to make their policy for ‘em.

So here they all were, even Mags, lounging around their tent like what Ma called gentlemen of leisure, and Pa called useless damn slugabeds, ‘scuse-it-May-Ellen. That last part Pa said real quick any time Ma was about to smack his behind for cussing. That was their way of funnin’ each other, and it always ended with Ma giving Pa a little kiss. Sometimes it almost seemed like he cussed in front of his wife on purpose, just so she’d have something to forgive him for.

O’Hanrahan glanced over at Razz, who was half hidden behind his Boxing Times. He was starting to be able to make sense of some of the words, but it still took a powerful lot of concentration.

Razz was a fella who cussed more than Pa ever did, and he didn’t do it for fun, neither. And he sure didn’t ever pick a fight hoping to get a kiss at the end of it. Why, Razz was so gol-durn prickly, it was hard to imagine him ever wanting to get a kiss from anybody. He’d have to take off his face wrap, for one thing.

And he didn’t seem the type to try to _get_ kissed. He’d go after whatever he wanted. Shaking the sheets with him would be more like a fight than anything sweet and tender, but it didn’t have to be sweet to be worth trying.

Razz glanced up then and caught him staring, and O’Hanrahan realized he shouldn’t be thinking things like that. The army had rules about fraternizing with your squadmates. Rules that Mags was perfectly happy to let them break...But that didn’t matter! He didn’t need to be thinking about what his buddy was like in bed!

“What are you looking at?” Razz snapped. He didn’t get mad like he would have before they got to be friends, but he had that irritable crease between his eyebrows again. It wasn’t the look of a fella with romance on his mind.

“Sorry,” O’Hanrahan said, and turned to look at Poindexter instead. He liked Dex fine. _Just_ liked him. Nice and simple.

But something was wrong there, too. Dex always kept quiet about it, but it was plain to see how happy he was when one of his perfume-smelling love notes came, if you knew what you were looking for. He talked plainer, and not so sharp, and he’d take the time to explain himself instead of just getting mad that a fella didn’t know basic chemistry, or—whatever book-knowledge was needed for the mischief he wanted to get up to. Dex being patient was as good as a smile.

On the other hand, when he was upset it showed in his face just fine.

“Everything all right?” O’Hanrahan asked, and Dex jumped like he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone in the tent. That got the others’ attention.

“Bad news from home?” Mags guessed.

Dex crumpled up his letter without a word.

“Ouch,” she said. “ _How_ bad?”

“Dear John,” he said flatly.

Mags winced in sympathy. Even Razz looked like he was sorry.

“Your name’s John?” O’Hanrahan asked.

That made all three of them look at him funny, and he reckoned he’d just said something dumb. At least Razz was nice enough to explain it to him.

“He means his girl—” He looked at Dex. “Girl?”

“Girl,” Dex confirmed.

“Right. So he had a girl back home, and she dumped him. Through the mail, like a...” He shot a bitter look at O’Hanrahan, discarded a word that must have been one of the really dirty ones, and finished, “coward. Probably ran off with another guy.”

“My brother,” Dex supplied.

“Oh, gosh, Dex, I’m sorry!” He couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if a beau of his went off with one of his sisters instead.

“It’s perfectly understandable,” Dex said, twisting the paper in both hands like he was wringing a rad chicken’s neck for Sunday dinner.

“It is?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“Of course. I’ve been out of reach for quite some time. I could hardly expect her to wait around forever.” One more twist, and the paper tore in half.

Razz got up and took the pieces of the letter out of Dex’s hands. He left them on the shelf, where they were out of reach, but Dex could still find them later if he wanted. That was more thoughtful than probably anyone expected from him.

“You want to go get a drink?” he asked.

“Thank you, no. I’d prefer to stay here and wallow in my misery.”

“What, you’ve never heard of drowning your sorrows?”

Dex started to look, if not interested, at least curious. Razz never invited any of them to go to the bar with him. But he shook his head.

“I’ll pass.”

“Fine.” Razz turned to O’Hanrahan. “ _You_ talk to him. I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” He was mystified. Razz knew how to talk. He knew the way to the bar. What else was he missing?

“You know, that thing you said. Niceness...and shit.”

“Oh, that.” He had never expected Razz to take his advice and be friendly. After all, he wouldn’t be Razz if he didn’t act mean sometimes. But sometimes didn’t have to be all the time. “Dex,” he said, “will you please come to the mess hall with us so Razz don’t have to be embarrassed about asking you?”

Razz made a sound like he wanted to argue. But he was getting what he’d asked for, so he kept his mouth shut.

“We’re going to the mess hall?” Dex asked.

Razz threw a glance at Mags before he said, “Yeah, the mess hall.”

O’Hanrahan knew what that meant. There were three places to buy alcohol at Camp Golf. One was the mess hall, which had a very small bar stocked mostly with Nuka-Cola and empty bottles. One was the Officers’ Club, inside the old resort building, which was off limits to enlisted fellas like them. And one was the Last Resort, which was technically off base, but close enough that most folks would just sneak over there whenever they wanted without bothering with a pass. It was run by a local woman named Rosie, and supposed to cater to all manner of sin. Razz said it was tame as heck, but there was nothing better in the area. That’s where it got its name.

“Speaking as your squad leader,” said Mags, “you’re excused from PT in the morning. You know, because you’re going to be up all night from binge-drinking Nukas. I’d come with you, but it’s better if I don’t witness my team getting ‘caffeinated.’”

“All right, I guess we’re going to the mess hall,” Dex sighed. But even with the sigh, he didn’t sound too unhappy about it.

“Tell Rosie hi for me,” said Mags. “And, Dex, about this girl? Don’t ever try to quote me on this, but it’s her loss.”

* * *

The bar was busy when they walked in, but not so busy that they couldn’t snag an empty table off in the corner. Most of the crowd was enlisted fellas, but O’Hanrahan caught the flash of lieutenants’ bars on a few of them. There were some locals mixed in, too, and a few ladies who didn’t look to be more than half-dressed. O’Hanrahan tried not to gawp like a hick, but he’d never seen any ladies of the evening before. Or maybe he had, but not while they were working. They probably looked just like anybody else, most of the time.

Razz caught him looking at one of the gals, but he didn’t kid him about it. Just went off to buy the first round.

“See something you like?” Dex asked as they slid onto the benches on opposite sides of the table.

“Who, her? No, I ain’t much interested in girls. She’s real nice looking, though.”

“Yeah,” Dex sighed. “She’s blonde.”

“Oh—did your lady friend have blonde hair?” He didn’t know if Dex wanted to talk about her yet, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

“Platinum blonde,” Dex said reluctantly. “Of course, it comes from a bottle.”

“Her _hair_? _”_

Dex just stared at him.

“I suppose that’s a no, then?” O’Hanrahan prompted.

“No, she doesn’t get her hair out of a bottle. She _dyes_ it, you...” There was some sort of insult on the tip of his tongue, but he let it rest. “I imagine she’s stopped doing that by now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh...financial considerations...” He shrugged. “Do we have to talk?”

“Not if you don’t want to. But if you feel like it later, well, me’n Razz are here to listen.” He glanced over at Razz, who didn’t look like he was in a listening mood. He had already gotten into a scuffle with a rowdy group over by the bar, but he broke away from them as soon as Rosie handed over three beers.

One of them said something, loud enough that the words “raider scum” carried clear across the room.

Razz didn’t go back and fight them, even though he was plain to see he wanted to. Instead, he stalked over to Poindexter and O’Hanrahan, thumped three beer bottles down on the table, and threw himself into the seat next to Dex, where he could glower at the place with his back to the wall.

“Does that sort of thing happen often?” asked Dex.

“What ‘sort of thing’?”

“That,” Dex said with a wave of his hand toward the fellas at the bar. “’Harassment From Your Fellow Soldiers.’ Didn’t you read your orientation pamphlets?”

Razz looked cranky, and O’Hanrahan almost jumped in with some lousy excuse. But Razz could handle it.

“You call that harassment? It’s barely even dickishness.” He forced a laugh and took a drink.

Dex had a sip of his own beer and then recoiled, doubling over and pushing the bottle as far away from himself as he could.

“Oh, that’s _awful_! Is this even real beer?”

“What, Rosie’s home brew’s not good enough for you, fancypants?” Razz took another sip, but he couldn’t help grimacing as he did it.

“It tastes like pond scum!”

O’Hanrahan took a sip from his bottle, just to see if Dex was right.

 _He was_.

“You just need to drink more,” said Razz. “After the third or fourth one, you won’t even notice the taste.” Dex’s face said he didn’t like the sound of that, but Razz reached out, put a finger on the bottom of the bottle and tipped it toward him for encouragement. “Now, are you heartbroken or are you heartbroken?”

“I’m not heartbroken,” Dex said after indulging. “I mean, I am, but I’m not _surprised_...“

“You can’t seriously sit there and tell me you’re not pissed off at this guy for stealing your girl,” said Razz.

“’This guy’ is my brother. And it would be neither logical nor rational to consider her _stolen_. I don’t own her.” He took another sip. Then, with a heavy sigh, he emptied the rest of the bottle.

“Yeah, whatever. Where I come from, they break your hands if they catch you stealing. Maybe you should break his—“

“She’s not my property,” Dex insisted. O’Hanrahan barely heard him.

“Shoot!” he exclaimed. “Is that what happened to your fingers?”

Looking startled, Razz shoved both hands under the table. Maybe that was something else he didn’t like to talk about.

“Sorry,” O’Hanrahan said earnestly. “They set crooked. I couldn’t help noticing.”

“Well, stop noticing everything all the time! Mind your own business, asshole.” With his wrap pulled down, Razz’s face showed a lot more than he probably wanted. He _sounded_ mad as a wet hen, but it was plain to see he was more embarrassed than anything else.

“Sorry, Razz. Didn’t mean to pry.”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Razz snapped. O’Hanrahan didn’t feel like he’d been looking at Razz in any kind of way, but he tried to stop. Razz brought his hands back up to take hold of his drink. “You don’t have to tell me stealing is wrong,” he grumbled. “A lecture was part of the punishment.”

“I ain’t going to pass judgment on you. If you stole something, I’m sure you had a good reason.”

“Shit.” Razz finished off his beer and got to his feet. “Who wants another round?”

“I’ll take one,” Dex said quietly. O’Hanrahan was still working on his first, so he didn’t answer.

“Great, don’t go anywhere.” He made his way toward the bar, pushing his way through the crowd.

“You shouldn’t always assume the best,” Dex said when Razz was out of earshot. “People will take advantage of your blind optimism.”

“Are you saying I shouldn’t trust Razz? He’s my friend.”

“Of course—I wasn’t referring to Razz, specifically. He’s a better man than many I’ve known. But the fact remains that you’re far too trusting for your own good.”

“Well, I don’t reckon I’d be too happy if I wasn’t, so I suppose I might as well stay this way. And besides,” he added, quiet enough so it wouldn’t carry across the room, “Razz has had a real hard life. He deserves to have someone give him the benefit of the doubt for once.”

They both looked over at Razz, who was still getting the stinkeye from those fellas from before. One of them, the one with the yellow bars of a second lieutenant on his collar, said something that made the rest laugh. Razz was holding onto one of his bottles like he wanted to hit the fella over the head with it, but he kept his temper.

That just plain wasn’t fair, that they wanted to treat him like he was the enemy just because he used to be with the Fiends. Razz _did_ deserve to have somebody on his side.

“Supporting your squadmates is admirable,” Dex agreed. “But I think you’d give Caesar the ‘benefit of the doubt.’”

“We-e-ell...” He knew he ought not to say it, but he had been thinking this over for a fair piece. “It might could be the fella has a brain tumor, or something like that. My little sister’s learning all about that sort of thing, and she says sometimes neurological issues can make a fella act contrary to his nature.” He didn’t stumble over the words at all. Bell sure was a heck of a teacher.

Dex was laughing helplessly by the time Razz got back to them.

“What’s wrong with him?” Razz asked.

“Too good,” Dex laughed, “too pure!” He took one of the bottles Razz was offering.

“Oh, so you’re a giggly drunk.” Razz set a fresh beer in front of O’Hanrahan, who still hadn’t made much progress on his first. He wondered if anything ever made Razz giggle. Probably not. He laughed in the face of danger, but he wouldn’t giggle.

“All’s I _meant_ was that I don’t like to think anyone’s all bad at heart. Even Caesar must have had some good in him sometime.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Dex said, and promptly drained his second bottle. Then he shuddered.

“Damn, drunky.” Razz nodded his approval and finished his just as fast.

O’Hanrahan hoped this wasn’t going to turn into a drinking contest. He took a sip. It still tasted like pond scum.

Razz started to get up.

“I guess it doesn’t matter if I miss PT tomorrow, if you’re going to keep me running back and forth to the bar like this.”

“I can get the next round,” O’Hanrahan offered.

“Yes! Get as many as you can carry,” said Dex. His eyes were already looking glassy, and he was slouching in his seat. He usually sat—as Razz said—like he had a stick up his behind. Well...Razz never said ‘behind.’ But anyhow, if it was already making him feel less tense, the beer must be a good idea.

“I’ll get as many as I can carry,” he agreed.

“And he can carry the _most_ ,” Dex said to Razz. “You see? Work smart, not hard.”

O’Hanrahan picked up three bottles at the bar and a bowl of pretzels. Whatever Dex thought, he didn’t believe he could carry more than that without dropping something. He made some small talk with the bartender and blushed at a couple of ladies who tried to convince him to pick them up. When he plopped back down at the table, Dex had finished the unopened beer O’Hanrahan had left behind, and was trying to convince Razz to give up the one he had actually been drinking.

“Told you you’d get used to the taste.” Razz pushed the mostly-full bottle toward O’Hanrahan’s side of the table, but he didn’t stop Dex from taking a fresh one. “You planning on slowing down any time soon?”

“Nope.” Dex chugged half his bottle, stopped for breath, and started to raise it to his mouth again. Razz stopped him.

“Give it a minute. It tastes _much_ worse the second time around.” He took a sip of his own beer. Dex went back to drinking as soon as Razz’s eyes were off him.

O’Hanrahan took another sip. Pond scum.

“So tell us about the girl already,” said Razz.

Dex hiccupped thoughtfully.

“Well...have you ever...been in love?”

Razz just shrugged. O’Hanrahan thought about it, but he couldn’t say for sure if he’d ever _really_ been in love, or just got carried away by the springtime. If he couldn’t be sure, he supposed the answer was probably no. But the thing his folks called puppy love sure was nice. He supposed the other kind must be, too. 

“I...love...Laverne.” He hiccupped again. “I mean, I _loved_ her. Before she cut my heart out and—left it dripping on the floor—and stomped on it—with shoes.”

“Love is brutal,” said Razz. “Drink more.”

“Yes!” He picked up another bottle. “Precious alcohol. Did you ever have a girlfriend?”

“You asking us or the beer?”

“Mm-hmm,” Dex said, too busy drinking to answer properly. Then, with the bottle still against his mouth, he said, "I'm sorry. Boyfriend."

Razz drank, too. He obviously didn’t want to fall too far behind. O’Hanrahan thought about trying to keep up with them, but the idea just didn’t appeal to him.

“I guess I had somebody once,” Razz said, oblivious to what was going on beside him. He glanced at O’Hanrahan, and quickly looked away. “He’s dead now.” He jerked his wrap up to cover his face again. “I mean, what the hell, everyone I ever knew is dead now, so what does it matter?”

“Well, we ain’t.”

“Yet,” Razz snorted at O’Hanrahan’s attempt at being supportive. He killed his beer and slammed the bottle on the table. “I’m going to get another round.”

“We ain’t finished this one.”

Razz froze, half out of his seat, and looked over at Dex meaningfully. Dex chugged down the bottle he’d been working on and belched. Razz resumed climbing off the bench. “Now we have.”

O’Hanrahan looked over at the empties collecting at Dex’s elbow. He’d polished off five in the hour or so they’d been sitting around. Must be he was ready to pop.

By the time Razz got back with three more beers, Dex was slumped facedown on the table, humming quietly.

“What the fuck?” Razz laughed. “Is he passed out? Poindexter, how much of a lightweight are you?”

“Nine,” said Dex.

“Nine...what?” He looked at the half a beer in front of O’Hanrahan, and the cluster of empty bottles on Dex’s side of the table, and his eyes went wide. “Are you still working on your first?”

“Well...I don’t much care for the taste of beer.” He knew he should have spoken up from the first and gotten a sarsaparilla, but he was sure Razz would have ribbed him about it.

“You don’t drink beer for the taste! You drink it to get drunk!”

“You can’t get drunk off beer,” O’Hanrahan argued.

“What the fuck kind of beer are you drinking? Yes, you can!”

“Well, I never have—and it ain’t from lack of trying!” he added, since he thought Razz was sure to be a smart aleck. It wasn’t like he went out drinking all the time, but he and Pa did have some hobbies they didn’t talk about to Ma. He’d had beer plenty of times. It just didn’t do a thing to him.

“This argument is fascinating,” Dex said without raising his head from the table. “What do you weigh?”

“I dunno...three hundred? Three-fifty?” He’d never had cause to weigh himself, but he thought he remembered the army doctors had marked him down as something in that area.

“You—your body mass—You’re big,” Dex managed. “I estimate you could drink one hundred beers.”

“He’d have to drink a _hundred_ beers to get drunk?” Razz asked.

“No, it would take a hundred beers to kill him.” He moved just enough to be able to look up at Razz. “Are you falling?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Oh. Am I?”

“You’re sitting, assclown. Don’t worry, you’re just drunk.” To O’Hanrahan, he said, “Get him up. Help him walk it off.”

“I can walk,” Dex said, not moving.

Before O’Hanrahan had a chance to do anything, that group of fellas and their lieutenant friend came up behind Razz, deep in conversation like they didn’t even notice where they were. But any dang fool could see they were up to no good.

Just as O’Hanrahan was opening his mouth to politely ask the gentlemen to be on their way, one of them knocked into Razz with his elbow, hard enough to make him drop all three of the bottles in his hands. Beer foamed across the table, down Razz’s front, and up Dex’s nose.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Razz yelled, as Dex confusedly tried to wipe his face.

“We don’t have a problem, raider,” the lieutenant said. “Looks like you’re the one who’s clumsy.” And then his hand clamped down on Razz’s shoulder in a way that, even if it hadn’t been meant as a threat, O’Hanrahan knew Razz wouldn’t like.

Razz was going to hit him.

O’Hanrahan put himself between the two of them just in time. The punch, aimed at the lieutenant’s eye, hit him at the bottom of his chin. And it _hurt_.

“Ffffff—” He almost said one of Razz’s favorite words.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Razz asked. “Get out of the way!”

“And let you get discharged for assaulting an officer? I reckon that’s just what this here—“ He wanted to call him a rascal. Would that get him tossed out of the army? Better settle on something more diplomatic. “—fella wants.”

The lieutenant tried to shove his way past O’Hanrahan, and bounced. Scowling, he went the long way around.

“You want to fight, Fiend? Let’s fucking go!”

“How about you stick those butterbars up your ass first, _sir_?” Razz suggested. Which wasn’t very nice, but at least it showed he was listening.

The lieutenant stripped off his uniform top, insignia and all, and handed it to one of his friends. That meant that later, Razz would be able to say he hadn’t known he was dealing with an officer, so the worst he’d get for fighting would be a night in the hoosegow.

Or the infirmary. If the fella was that eager for a fight, he must think he was tough enough to put Razz in his place. That, or he was counting on them other five to take up the slack.

“Any more excuses?” the lieutenant sneered. “Or do you want this big dumb shit to do the fighting for you, too?”

Razz moved faster than O’Hanrahan would have thought possible. A jab to the nose, an elbow to the throat, and a swift kick to the particulars, and the lieutenant collapsed in a quivering, whimpering heap on the floor.

“Nobody calls him a dumb shit but me, fucknuts!”

The lieutenant’s friends stood frozen in shock. Then with a yell, they all rushed at Razz.

Acting purely on instinct, O’Hanrahan grabbed the nearest two by their collars and clapped their heads together. Dex lurched out of his seat and smashed his beer bottle over the next one’s head, then staggered so O’Hanrahan had to catch him.

The last two tackled Razz. The table went over as they all sailed across it, sending bottles scattering.

The crowd surged, pressing in on all sides. O’Hanrahan pushed his way toward Razz, keeping one arm tight around Poindexter so he wouldn’t get lost. Dex was just a little too eager to find someone else to hit.

Someone was yelling at them to break it up. O’Hanrahan would have been more than happy to oblige, but he didn’t think them other fellas were willing. One of them was out of the fight already, moaning and clutching an elbow that bent the wrong way. The other was trying to hold Razz down, but he wasn’t having an easy time of it. While the fella was trying to keep track of Razz’s hands, Razz reared back and slammed the top of his head into the fella’s nose.

O’Hanrahan dragged the fella off of Razz. Dex helped with a wild swat to the ear, then stared in confusion at his own empty hands.

“Hey...where’s my beer?”

Razz wasn’t done fighting. He came at the fella even as O’Hanrahan lifted him clear off the ground, trying to keep them separate. Fortunately, a tipsy-looking MP wormed his way through the mob in time to put himself between them.

“I said break it up!”

“Fuck you!” said Razz.

“Yes! Fuck you!” Dex agreed.

“You stay out of this, Poindexter.”

“No! We— _we_ are a _squad_. We’re the Misfits!” He gestured vaguely and nearly fell over “Mess with one of us and—and--you mess with—I have to sit down.”

“You can sit down in a jail cell,” the MP started. Then he looked up at O’Hanrahan. And up and up and up. His face turned pale. “Are you with them?”

“Yessir. But I think you ought to know, them other fellas started the fight.” He gave his captive a shake for emphasis. “All we did was finish it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever update a different WIP or will these two dorks continue dominating my life? Stay tuned!


	6. ...F, you're a feather in my arms...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Advisories** for some problematic language, as per usual

Even after a night of drinking and brawling, O’Hanrahan was still an early riser. He opened his eyes in the near-dark of the jail cell, and started to wish he’d taken the bunk after all, instead of offering it to Dex, who’d been too drunk to find his way to it. Now his nethers were numb.

But he couldn’t move. Poindexter was still lying where he’d passed out, with his head in O’Hanrahan’s lap. And Razz had slumped sideways in the night, so he’d come to rest with his head on O’Hanrahan’s shoulder. They were both snoring softly. He didn’t want to wake them.

The door, when it opened a few minutes later, didn’t bang against the wall like he might have expected—even though that was Mags on the other side of it, and she did look mad.

Razz flinched and put a hand up to block out the light from the next room. Dex just groaned.

“You assaulted an officer?” Mags kept her voice down, but it still made Dex turn his face to O’Hanrahan’s lap with a miserable back-of-the-throat whine.

“Yeah, I hit him,” said Razz. “I’d do it again, too.”

“The fella was out of uniform,” O’Hanrahan put in quickly. “Besides, he had it coming.”

Razz turned toward him with a too-sudden movement that made him wince again. Mags looked just as surprised.

“Really, O’Hanrahan? _You_ think the violence was necessary?”

“Yes, ma’am. That lieutenant was trying to pick a fight all night. Razz did his best to behave himself, but a man has got to have limits. Ain’t that right, Dex?”

“Uhhhngh...”

“I see,” Mags said flatly. “And why was he trying to pick a fight?”

“Because—”

“It’s not a big deal,” Razz interrupted. “Can we get to the punishment and get it over with?”

“All right. For fighting, you all get a verbal reprimand.” She shook her finger at them. “Don’t do that. Now, come on. They have no reason to hold you here now that you’ve sobered up.”

“I’m still drunk,” Dex whisper-moaned.

“Now that you’ve all so clearly sobered up,” she repeated firmly. “Let’s get out of here.”

“You mean we ain’t in any trouble?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“Are you kidding? You beat up Lieutenant Grud. I know that guy. Everybody knows that guy. If I’d been there, I’d have hit him _for_ you.” She came over to offer Dex a hand up. He didn’t take it. “How’s your head, boozy?”

“Ugh...please...leave me…to die in peace...”

“Not a chance.” She gave them all a smile sweet as sugar. “Go take a shower and get some food in you. Then you can all join me on the explosives range at oh-eight-hundred.”

* * *

They left Poindexter in the shower, mournfully singing, “I’m in la-la-la-love with Laverne...”

O’Hanrahan didn’t know if Dex was any good as a singer when he was sober, but drunkenness sure didn’t improve him.

“Reckon one of us ought to stay with him?” he asked Razz.

“I don’t think he’ll drown. I’ll stick around, anyway. I could use a shave.”

“I’ll save something for you in the mess hall, then.” If they were late for chow, they could still pick up CRAM rations from the commissary, but that would come out of their pay. If they added on coffee, it could get real pricey.

“I’ll buy breakfast,” Dex called, breaking off his song. “Anything you like. I have no reason not to spend all my money...nothing to save up for...now...”

“Were you saving for the wedding?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“Weddings are cheap. I was saving to buy out her contract. She’s an indentured servant in Vault City.”

“He means she’s a slave,” Razz explained before O’Hanrahan could ask.

“Oh… but ain’t slavery illegal?”

“Not if they can dress it up as something else.” Razz looked like he was thinking O’Hanrahan was a dummy again, but at least he didn’t say so. “Go on, get out of here before he starts singing again.”

“All right.” He was sure they’d be along in a minute. Dex had already run through his hot water allotment twice over, but with no one to make him get out, he just kept pulling the cord to start it fresh. Maybe a good soaking would wake him up.

“Say, Razz,” O’Hanrahan whispered. “Don’t you think we ought to tell him?”

They both glanced toward Poindexter’s shower stall. Specifically, at the gap at the bottom, where they could see the soles of Dex’s boots moving here and there as he kept coming close to losing his balance.

“Hell no, we shouldn’t tell him,” said Razz. “I want to see him figure it out himself. It’s not our fault if he’s too shitfaced to get undressed.”

“Aw, Razz...” That wasn’t very nice.

“’Aw, Razz’ _what_? Stop looking like I just kicked a puppy.” He sighed. “Fucking fine, Jesus. Maybe it was kind of my fault for not telling him how strong Rosie brews her beer.”

“I didn’t say nothing, Razz.”

“You didn’t have to. Hey, Dex,” he yelled.

“What?”

“Did you know you’re still in uniform?”

There was a long, long silence.

“I did that on purpose,” Dex said finally. “It saves on laundry.”

* * *

Mags might not have let on that she was sore, but once she got the squad out doing drills, she sure worked them like she was. Dex didn’t sober up properly for hours, poor fella, and the explosives range didn’t do much for his hangover. The obstacle course with its barbed wire and mud pit didn’t show sympathy for his lack of balance, either.

They got a break at lunch, but Mags was right back at them when they finished shoveling grub into their faces. And she wasn’t satisfied until almost supper time. Razz and Dex went to get cleaned up; O’Hanrahan went back to the tent.

When he got there, O’Hanrahan found that the mail cart had already come with a package for him. He kicked off his boots and collapsed on his cot, glad for the excuse to take a break without feeling idle.

O’Hanrahan peeled open the brown paper and found some of the old picture books he’d had as a kid. There was a letter, too, but it was from Bell instead of Ma.

* * *

May 8, 2282

Dear Hoss,

Ma says you want some of our old readers, so here they are. She made me take them off to school with me in hopes that I would go on to teach like she did. Poor Ma never could resign herself to the fact that I do _not_ get on with children.

I do love these books, though. I remember how I used to follow you around and read to you while you tended the stock, and then you would read to me while I did my chores in the house. I don’t think I ever told you what a help you were to me. I remembered my lessons so much better that way, and I couldn’t count how many dinners you stopped me from burning in my distraction.

Along with the books, I am also sending a copy of the _Times_. If you look on page 6, you will find a story by your very own sister! For school, I interviewed some old-timers who were around when that so-called Chosen One tore through this town, founding orphanages, busting up slaving rings, and laying the unquiet dead to rest. Mostly tall tales, I’m sure, but it makes for a good story, and my friends at the paper thought what I wrote up was good enough to publish. They even paid me a few caps for it! And they say they’ll be willing to look at more of my work. It’s not a steady job yet, but it may lead to something worthwhile. And at least it will ease some of the burden on you.

Hex has also found a job here in town. I suppose this means she will me staying with me forever. You will not be surprised to learn that we have not discussed the matter. On Monday she was living out of a suitcase, on Tuesday she went down to the shops, and on Wednesday I found all my things stuffed into one dresser drawer, and all the rest were hers. It’s been that way since she ~~come~~ came two months back. But what else is new? At least if she’s here and satisfied, we don’t have to worry she’ll do something foolish.

Let me see. What else? The college has its own radio station now, just opened! Very exciting. And there’s an NCR liaison on hand to deliver the news every day, too, so we’re an official outpost! Maybe if it’s all right with your outfit, you can put in a call sometime.

Hex says to tell you she misses you even though she’s too lazy to write, and not to forget she’s turning 18. She’s reminded me just about twice a day every day since she got here, so I suppose you ought to suffer too.

Love and kisses,

Bell _\+ Hex_

* * *

O’Hanrahan smiled and looked at the date. It was, what, first of June now? That made less than a month from the Den to Nevada. The NCR couriers were getting more efficient. Or that Corporal Jones had put in a real good word for him, and made it stick.

O’Hanrahan settled down with the _Times_ , open to page six. Usually when he got his hands on a newspaper, he skipped right to the funny pages, but this here was a special occasion. Gosh, he sure was proud to see his little sister’s name in print. And the story was real exciting, too. As good as anything in _Lad’s Life_ , even if he was sort of biased.

Before he was half finished reading, Razz staggered into the tent, still caked with mud from the obstacle course. He’d cleaned his face, but evidently he was just going to change into his spare uniform like O’Hanrahan had and leave the clothes washing for another day.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he shimmied out of his muddy pants. O’Hanrahan was quick to raise the paper to block his view. “If she’s gonna keep driving us like _that_ , I need to cut my hair. I think half of it’s still stuck in that barbed wire.”

“That’s why they tell us to wear our helmets out there,” O’Hanrahan pointed out.

“Helmets are lame.” There was a thump as Razz threw himself onto his own bunk. O’Hanrahan took a peek and found he was dressed in the clean uniform already, all but boots and face wrap, with most of the buttons left undone. He wondered what Razz looked like in civilian dress. But he didn’t need to be thinking about that.

“You have to wear a helmet in combat,” he said, “so’s your head don’t get shot off.”

“That’s not such a bad way to go. At least it’s quick.” He leaned across the space between the beds, to poke at O’Hanrahan’s stack of books. “You got another package already?”

“Yep, from my sister.” He wanted to ask how much thought Razz had put into where was the best place to get shot, but obviously Razz didn’t want to talk about that or else he wouldn’t have changed the subject. “She sent some of the books we all learned our reading from. You want to try one?”

Razz picked up a book from the top of the pile and read, haltingly, “ _Fun...With...Dick_? Really, you learned to read from this?”

“Now, it ain’t like that, Razz,” O’Hanrahan said, feeling his ears heat up. “It’s Dick _and Jane_.”

“Okay, so Jane has fun with Dick. Who doesn’t?” He opened the book to the first page, and immediately his face fell. “They’re _kids_?”

“I told you it ain’t a dirty book.”

“Well— _good_.” He frowned at the open page. “But something that starts with ‘See Dick’ shouldn’t be this boring.”

“But you can read it, though.”

“Oh!” In his surprise, Razz actually smiled. “I can! ‘See Dick run. Run, Dick, run!’ What’s he running from?”

“Well—”

The next moment, the tent flap opened, and the book went flying out of Razz’s hand to land somewhere behind O’Hanrahan’s bed.

Dex’s second uniform was still wet from his six showers that morning, so he’d done his best to scrape the worst of the mud off the one he was wearing. It wouldn’t pass muster by the light of day, but it would do for the time being.

If Razz was worried about being caught with a children’s book in his hand, he shouldn’t have been. Dex fell across his bunk without a word or a glance at either of them.

“Feelin’ any better?” O’Hanrahan asked. Dex didn’t look ready to cast up his accounts no more, but he’d had a real tough day. O’Hanrahan suspected he’d been pushed just about to his limit. O’Hanrahan always felt wonderful after some real hard physical work, but Dex was different. He must be about done in.

“No more drinking,” Dex groaned. “No more getting Mags angry. No more...moving. Ever.”

“You think Mags is pissed off?” Razz asked.

“No, she’s trying to kill me because...reasons? Oh, God, I’m too tired for sarcasm.”

“What, are you not paying attention? She feels _sorry_ for you. I mean, yeah, she made you set off all those grenades first thing in the morning like a fucking asshole,” he added, not bothering to hide a smirk of approval. “But other than that, I’d say she’s more keeping you busy so you don’t have time to mope around about the bitch that broke your heart.”

Dex sat up so fast he nearly fell off the bed.

“Don’t call her that!”

“Why not? Isn’t that what she is?”

“No!”

“Didn’t she dump you for your _brother_?”

“Well, I mean...yes—“

“Then she’s a bitch.”

“There is a level of nuance in the situation you’re not taking into account,” Dex said sadly. “She took the quickest route out of slavery she could. I can’t— _won’t—_ hold it against her just because it wasn’t _me_ _.”_

“Okay, so hold it against your brother.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Razz! He _rescued_ her. If anything, I should be grateful.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I wouldn’t know _anything_ about thinking you owe something to a guy who saves your ass from slavery.” Suddenly realizing he’d said more than he meant to, Razz yanked the trailing end of his face wrap up and over his mouth, almost like he thought that would stop him from saying anything more.

“Were you—“ O’Hanrahan started.

“No! Shut up. I didn’t say anything! I’m going to dinner.”

“Barefoot?”

“Yes!”

“Has anything good _ever_ happened to you?” Dex asked, before he could make it out of the tent. Razz paused.

“Of course. I...joined the army?”

“That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It ain’t sad at all,” said O’Hanrahan. “I know joining up when I did was a good thing for _me_. I’d hate to’ve missed the chance to be friends with you two fellas, and Mags, and everyone.”

“Oh, _Jesus_.” Razz flushed. “Doesn’t your balloon ever land?”

“No, I don’t reckon it does.” He smiled broadly at Razz. His friend. Razz flushed even more. “It wouldn’t hurt you none to join me in it sometime.” He sputtered at that, but it fizzled out when O’Hanrahan continued, “You neither, Poindexter.”

Poindexter looked away and cleared his throat. “You’re very kind to offer, O’Hanrahan.”

“Yeah,” Razz grumped. He let the tent flap drop and threw himself down on his bed. “Pain in the ass, isn’t it?”

“I realize I’m not particularly adept, socially,” Poindexter said with an awkward shrug. It was plain to see he didn’t have much practice admitting his flaws. “People used to say that I got all the brains and Al got the charm, which isn’t entirely true as he’s fairly bright by anyone’s standards. Be that as it may, I do appreciate having friends.” That last part came out in a mumble. As unnaturally perfect as Dex talked—more like book-writing than a regular person—O’Hanrahan hadn’t been sure he _could_ mumble.

“Who’s Al?” asked Razz. That wasn’t the question O’Hanrahan would have asked, but it made Dex perk up, probably because it wasn’t about feelings. Gosh, he’d never met two fellas who fell apart so fast any time somebody was nice to them.

“Al is my brother. Aloysius.”

“Your brother’s name is _Aloysius_?” Razz cackled. “And I thought Poindexter was lame.”

“Yes, well. Poindexter is a surname. You’ll be pleased to know he was saddled with both.”

“But I thought—“ Razz laughed some more. “What’s _your_ first name, then?”

Dex folded his arms. “Something I wouldn’t reveal even under pain of death.”

* * *

Jun. 3, 2282

Dear Ma,

I ain’t wrote to you in some time. I hope you all are still doing good. Are you and Pa keeping that orphan you took on? I know it was only supposed to be for a few weeks, to milk the brahmin and gather the eggs, but I guess Hex is stayin put, so I spose the kid is too. And I can’t imagine you’re letting the youngun work very hard. If you want a grown person to help bring in the harvest, let me know and I will send home enough money for you to hire someone in August. I will remind Hex to do the same when I call her for her birthday in a couple weeks.

I know Razz already wrote to thank you for the apple butter, but I wanted to do the same. We all liked it a lot. Razz et all of his and some of mine, but I did not mind sharing because it made him so happy. Mags is saving hers, eating a little at a time because she says it’s too good to waste being a glutton. Dex was trying to do the same, but then he had a real bad day and finished the whole thing in one go.

Dex is working much harder these days. He has started joining me and Razz for our morning runs, and has only ~~fainted~~ passed out from manly exershun once. Even with that, he says he would rather run with us than with Mags. She don’t stop when he falls over.

Mags got passed over from promotion to sergeant, which I do not think is fair because she is a darn good soldier. She says there is a difference between a good soldier and a good leader, but I ain’t so sure. She had helped us three go a lot further than we would have on our own, and we didn’t make it easy on her, neither. Besides that, I don’t want to critisize, but the army don’t always give its people the training they need. Would you believe Poindexter came out of Basic not knowing how to use a rifle? So if she don’t know everything there is to know abut being an officer, maybe she ain’t entirely to blame.

I think it’s the platoon leader’s job to develop the NCOs, but our LT is pretty green, himself. I don’t know what-all he learned in Officer Candidate School. But he’s a real decent little fella. We’re all invited to his Bar Mitzvah next month...

* * *

“It _can’t_ be worse than Aloysius.” Over the mess table, Razz poked his fork Poindexter’s direction. “Melvin?”

“No.”

O’Hanrahan rolled up his letter, still listening to Razz needle Poindexter. Them two had been going at it for days now, and it’d been darn near impossible to finish a thought whenever they were within earshot. He shouldn’t have even bothered trying to write to his ma during dinner, but this was the first free time he’d had all day and it’d seemed worth a shot.

Oh, well. He put his pencil away and reached for his coffee cup instead.

“Mortimer.”

Poindexter shoveled another mouthful of stewed tatos into his mouth and garbled around his food, “No.”

“Uh...shit. Garfield. Archibald. Clarence.”

“No,” Poindexter swallowed thickly and washed the tatos down with a gulp of water. “no, and no.”

“Elmer. Gunther. Dexter.”

“You think my name is Dexter Poindexter?”

“I dunno. It could be. You didn’t deny it.”

“For heaven’s sake. What’s _your_ given name, then?” Dex snapped. Razz shrugged.

“I don’t have one.”

“Oh...you mean you don’t have a surname. Razz is your given name.”

“Nobody _gave_ it to me. I picked it. I wasn’t going to wait around for someone to call me something lame like Dexter Poindexter.”

“Stop calling me Dexter Poindexter!”

“Lester Poindexter?”

“No!”

“Chester?” O’Hanrahan guessed. Dex sputtered in shock.

“ _Et tu_ , O’Hanrahan?”

“I know your name,” said Mags. She nudged Dex aside so she could take a seat at the table with the rest of them. “I’ve seen your paperwork…” She moved her lips silently, forming a word O’Hanrahan didn’t recognize, but Dex obviously did.

“Mags!”

“Oh, don’t worry.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll save it for a time when I really need it.”

“Doesn’t the army have any rules against tormenting your subordinates?”

“Maybe, but there are no rules against calling you...” She leaned over to whisper the name in Dex’s ear. Dex sipped his coffee, trying and failing to look unaffected. When she was through, she straightened up. “And watch it with that Legion talk around here. Somebody’s liable to think you’re a spy.”

“Like Poindexter could ever be a spy!” Razz chortled.

“He could be a _bad_ spy,” O’Hanrahan offered with a teasing grin. He wasn’t usually one to poke fun, but the mood seemed right for it.

“Hey!” Dex sat up straighter, brandishing his fork for emphasis. “Just how difficult do you think it would be for someone of my mental caliber to infiltrate—”

“That is _not funny_ ,” Mags snapped. “If the wrong person heard you talking like that, you could get yourself court-martialed and hanged for treason.”

“Sorry,” Dex mumbled. Razz and O’Hanrahan echoed the word. Mags softened just slightly as she took in their chastened expressions.

“I don’t want to see a member of my squad executed because of a stupid joke. Especially not now that you’re finally shaping up into half-decent soldiers.”

Razz turned pink, looked away and muttered something that might have been bashful. O’Hanrahan smiled openly. “Gee, thanks, Mags.”

“It’s not ‘Legion talk,’ anyway,” said Dex, after an uncomfortable pause. “It’s Shakespeare.”

“Well, shake your spear on your own time. We’re on work detail tonight. O’Hanrahan, the engineers are calling for someone muscley to move a lot of dirt around. Thank you for volunteering,” she said, without waiting for him to actually do so. “Razz, you’re in the mess hall. Poindexter, you get to scrub out the showers with a toothbrush.”

“ _Again_?”

“ _Yes_ , again. And I heard Rizzo say if you give him any lip about it, he’ll downgrade you to scrubbing them out with dental floss.”

“But that’s physically impossible!”

Mags took a sip of her coffee. “That’s the idea.”

* * *

O’Hanrahan finished his letter to Ma and left it with the mail clerk. It would reach home before too long, he hoped, but he’d go ahead and make arrangements to hire on some extra hands in case her reply didn’t get to him in time for the harvest. The mail service was getting real good, but he didn’t trust it to be completely reliable out in the country.

Getting mail to the city was fine, though. The present he’d sent to Hex should reach her just in time for her birthday. On top of surprising her with a call on the radio, he knew she wanted something she could hold in her hands. But picking it out had been easy. She was always pleased with a bit of frippery, so a pretty ribbon in her favorite color and a carved pendant to hang from it would make her plenty happy.

But there was also Bell to think of. He never had sent her a present after she’d asked for one. The poor girl wouldn’t complain if he forgot about her—she never did complain when she was passed over, but that didn’t make it right to leave her lacking.

And O’Hanrahan still had no idea what to give her.

He reckoned he ought to ask Mags for a woman’s opinion, or ask for Dex’s thoughts as one of them intellectual types. Dex must be near ‘bout as smart as Bell, so maybe he could think of something that would appeal to her.

But Dex wasn’t in the tent when O’Hanrahan came back from digging the trench for the new latrines, and neither was Mags. There was just Razz, back early from cleaning up the mess hall, sitting on his bunk, sharpening his combat knife and humming under his breath. The humming stopped as soon as O’Hanrahan came in, but the knife kept _whisk-whisk_ ing away at the whetstone.

Should he ask Razz? He liked having someone to talk things over with, but O’Hanrahan was starting to worry that Razz would think he was just making up excuses to spend time together. Well, to be perfectly honest, maybe sometimes he did. But this was on the level, and there was no need to feel he was doing wrong just because being with his friend made him feel mighty peculiar and, if he was willing to admit it, much more than friendly.

“Say, Razz,” he said firmly. So firmly that Razz was startled into breaking the rhythm of his knife on the stone.

“What’d I do?”

“Nothing! Sorry.” Gee whiz, he sure was off to a swell start. “Listen, I know you don’t have any sisters yourself, but...”

“I don’t know, I might,” Razz said with a shrug. “I don’t know what my parents get up to.”

“Oh...I thought you said they were dead.”

“Hell, they probably are. I wouldn’t know. I never met them.”

“You never…?”

“They didn’t want a kid,” Razz said through clenched teeth. “What’s this all about? Do you want something, or are you just going to ask me stupid questions all night?”

“I’m sorry,” O’Hanrahan said in that gentle way that always made Razz twice as mad as he’d been before. He tried not to think any sorrowful thoughts, knowing how Razz bristled at sympathy. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Okay, fine. What do you want?”

“Well now...I was sort of hoping you could help me think of something I could send my sister. Did you ever give a girl a present?”

“I did once, but...” He inspected his knife, and, satisfied with its edge, slipped it back in its sheath. “I don’t know, do you think your sister would like a baseball bat studded with razor blades? My friend Shashka loved that.”

“My sister might not be that kind of girl,” O’Hanrahan confessed. “She was asking for something special from the Mojave, but I don’t know what to send her that she couldn’t get anyplace else. Except maybe a great big bucket of sand.”

“Or a pet cazador,” Razz suggested.

“Maybe a Legion helmet.”

“You’d have to kill one first.”

“Well, that’s out, then.” He knew that some of the other soldiers had taken trophies from the Legionaries they’d killed, but he didn’t think he could bring himself to do something so grisly, even if he were somehow to encounter some of the Legion, _and_ kill them.

“Wait—isn’t it obvious?” Razz said, hopping to his feet. “We’re thirty miles from New Vegas. Get her something from the Strip.”

“But I’ve never been there.” He almost suggested that they put in for weekend passes and go down there together, but then he realized he was just thinking up excuses again. Besides which, getting leave for more than a day at a time was awful hard to do for a couple of fellas whose records were none too outstanding.

“You don’t have to go. I have something right here.” Razz crawled under his bunk and came out with an old ammo pouch, which he upended over his blanket.

All sorts of odds and ends came tumbling out. There was a tarnished coin from before the war, a bottlecap with a star on the underside, a piece of wire twisted into a fancy shape, a deck of cards tied up with a piece of string, a glossy black feather, a bit of bleached bone, the letter Ma had sent him, and any number of other little gewgaws.

“Is that a crow feather?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“Yeah, it fell off your asshole bird after it pecked me.” His face flushed suddenly. “I thought it was...pretty. There’s nothing wrong with that!”

“I didn’t say there was.”

“Just—give her this.” He handed O’Hanrahan the deck of cards and started scooping his other treasures back into the bag. “It’s from the Gomorrah. The full set, too. Maybe she can learn to play Caravan—I never could.”

Caravan was an awful hard game to learn. Dex had tried to teach O’Hanrahan once, and had just ended up shouting that the rules were not that gosh-darn complicated and O’Hanrahan was being willfully obtuse, and then he’d knocked over the card table. Never got around to explaining what obtuse meant, either.

“Gee, thanks, Razz,” O’Hanrahan said earnestly. “But don’t you want to keep this?”

“Nah. I never play cards. I just had it because everything I’ve heard about that casino sounds fucking badass. I never got to see it, though.”

“Maybe we’ll go someday.” He turned the deck over in his hands. The card on top, the Ace of Spades, had a picture of a real pretty young lady looking coyly over her shoulder, in a skimpy dress that showed off all of her back and most of the rest of her, too. “Oh, golly, Razz! These ain’t a lot of dirty pictures, are they?”

“ _No_ , for fuck’s sake! That’s the raciest one, and you can’t even see anything. Jesus.”

“Well, all right, then. Can I tell her this is from both of us?”

“If you want.” Somewhere under the sullen shrug, O’Hanrahan thought Razz looked pleased.

“Thanks again, Razz. You’ve sure done me a good turn this time.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Razz grumbled. “Tell your sister...something. I don’t know what. Which sister is this for?”

“Bell,” he said.

“The college girl? Okay, so tell her good luck with that, I guess.” He shrugged. “Put it in nicer words, maybe.”

“Aw, now, Razz,” O’Hanrahan clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. “Those words were plenty nice.”

“ _Ugh_.” Razz rolled his eyes but, instead of shrugging him off in the expected fashion, put his hand over O’Hanrahan’s to give it a pat. It was almost friendly. Maybe, O’Hanrahan’s cheeks flamed, more than friendly. “See what you’ve done, you monster? You’ve turned me into a big p—er...a big...uh...”

“Mush pot?

“Yeah.” Razz looked him square in the eyes. Yeah, unless he was off by about a mile, there sure was something more than friendly brewing there. “Mush pot.”

The tent flap jerked open. Suddenly, both Razz and O’Hanrahan had different places to be and other places to look.

* * *

O’Hanrahan’s turn for night watch came a few days later, and Razz along with him. But this time, instead of pulling duty together, they were assigned to separate guard posts, within shouting distance of each other, but too far apart for any kind of conversation. On the one hand, that meant the higher-ups were finally trusting them to carry out their duties without setting fire to the camp. On the other, solitude made for a dull watch.

The night was cold and clear. In spite of the scorching hot days, a summer night in the Mojave felt like winter back home. But O’Hanrahan didn’t mind so much. He’d dressed for it, with extra layers under his uniform, and his thickest pair of socks.

Razz hadn’t. O’Hanrahan could see him stamping around his guard post, hunched over in the usual posture of a man fighting to keep warm. Probably cussing like nobody’s business. It was a shame they weren’t assigned together. O’Hanrahan could put an arm around him and—

No, he wasn’t supposed to be thinking like that. Rules were rules, and Razz didn’t like hugging anyhow. Maybe not even when he was cold.

O’Hanrahan turned his attention to the empty road for as long as he could keep it there. Then he found himself looking at the stars, finding all the pictures he and his sisters used to imagine up there when they were kids. There was the dancing yao guai...the scarecrow in the tato patch...Jerry the Cowboy…

He wondered if Razz had ever made star pictures when he was a little fella all alone in the Angels’ Boneyard, and if any of them were the same as what they’d thought up in Oregon. And more than that, he wondered why he couldn’t go more than five minutes without thinking of his buddy.

The dull red glow of a cigarette off to his left took O’Hanrahan’s eyes away from the stars again, even though he was determined not to let it. All he wanted was to play by the rules. But he had to admit that Razz the Raider was a heck of a lot more interesting than Jerry the Cowboy.

This was going to be a long dang night.

* * *

They were relieved at oh-three hundred, so they could have a few hours of sack time before the new day. O’Hanrahan lingered on the path to give Razz a chance to catch up. Maybe Razz wouldn’t be in the mood to talk, but at least they could walk back together.

“Have a good night?” he asked. Razz shrugged.

“Boring as shit. Same as always.”

He looked crankier than usual, and, O’Hanrahan noticed, he was rubbing his hands together almost hard enough to take off a layer of skin.

“You cold?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“Aren’t _you_? Or is that something else your kind of mutant doesn’t have to deal with?”

“Sorry, Razz.” He was tired. If Razz was trying to pick a fight, he thought the best thing to do was to disengage, so he wouldn’t say nothing he didn’t mean.

Razz held a glare for a few seconds before it collapsed in on itself.

“Fuck! Don’t apologize to me when _I’m_ being a dick. I’m...” He sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“Your fingers hurt?” O’Hanrahan guessed. Razz flinched.

“How do you know that?”

“My pa got his hand caught in a threshing machine when he was young. It pains him something fierce in cold weather. I reckoned it might be the same for you. Here, I can help.” He took Razz’s hands without waiting for permission, folded them inside his and held them close to his chest.

“What the fuck are y—ohhh...fuck...” Razz’s shoulders slumped as a wave of tension rolled away from him. “That doesn’t hurt. How did you do that?”

“Heat always helps for Pa. Pressure, too.” He started to let go, thinking Razz would want to go into the tent—they had stopped just a few feet away from it. Razz made a wordless sound of protest, though, so O’Hanrahan kept hold.

“Fuck,” Razz said again. “You _are_ a witch.”

“I done told you I ain’t. Not a witch nor a mutant, and I wish you wouldn’t say such things.” He was just old enough to remember the last of the stonings in the village square, even if he knew that wasn’t done no more in the NCR proper. “If I did have special powers, though, I suppose this is what I’d use ‘em for. I don’t like to see you hurting.”

“It’s not that bad,” Razz said, clearly embarrassed. “It’s just...all the time. Whenever it’s cold. It just...hurts.”

“I can see how that must be wearying on you. Well, any time you want me to keep you warm, you let me know.”

“Fuck,” Razz muttered, and slumped forward until his forehead rested on O’Hanrahan’s shoulder.

“Or I could loan you a pair of gloves next time,” O’Hanrahan offered. That wouldn’t be his preferred method, but it would do almost as much good for them poor mangled hands.

“You’re a fucking _saint_ ,” Razz said, his voice muffled by all them layers of fabric.

“No, I ain’t that, either. Just a friend trying to help.”

Razz pulled away to look O’Hanrahan in the face. There was something of a question in his eyes, but, for maybe the first time since O’Hanrahan had known him, there was no fight in him.

It was a darn good thing Razz kept his face wrap on all the time, O’Hanrahan decided, because if he’d had a clear shot just then, he’d have dropped his head and found out if Razz had any objection to kissing him.

And he would have gotten himself in trouble, because Dex chose that moment to stumble out of the tent, yawning so wide he didn’t even notice them until Razz whispered, “Shit!”

“Oh,” Dex said, darting a confused glance between the two of them. “Good morning. Don’t mind me. Just looking for the latrine.” He yawned again, and somehow managed to raise an eyebrow at Razz while he did it. “Are you teaching him to read palms now?”

“Fuck off, Poindexter!” Razz snatched his hands back and tucked them into the crooks of his elbows with a huff.

“We was just talking,” said O’Hanrahan, “and palm reading is deviltry.”

“Okay,” Dex laughed. “Well, whatever ‘deviltry’ you’re up to, I never saw you.”

O’Hanrahan wanted to explain that he never engaged in deviltry of any kind, but Dex was already walking away. He followed Razz into the tent instead.

Razz threw himself into bed, boots and all, without a word. O’Hanrahan did the same. First reveille was only two hours away, and if he wanted to get any rest at all before then, he’d better get started. With everything he had to think about, he didn’t expect sleep would come easy.

* * *

They spent the next few days like that, running up against each other at odd intervals, then breaking off to find other things to do. They didn’t trade two honest words about...whatever this was turning into, content to dance around it like it wasn’t there. Neither of them seemed brave enough to look at it straight on just yet.

If he’d been there to see it, Pa O’Hanrahan would have said it was just about the most perfect example of beating around the bush he’d ever set eyes on.

“Looking good, boys.”

On his hands and knees in the dirt, O’Hanrahan glanced up. Mags stood over him with her hands on her hips, looking down at what would—hopefully, with enough work and luck—turn into a decent little vegetable patch.

“Thanks, Mags.” The square of tilled earth wasn’t much to look at yet but maybe it would be, sometime.

“I meant...” She turned to Razz, laughing. “He is clueless, isn’t he?”

“Hrmph,” Razz grunted. He didn’t look at either of them.

Mags shook her head, still smiling, and tossed a fresh canteen between the two of them.

“Drink. You’re turning purple.”

“Hm. Thanks.”

Razz had to fight free of his face wrap to get some water. It was plumb foolish for him to keep covered up like that in the noonday heat, especially when they weren’t even on duty and weren’t required to stay in uniform. O’Hanrahan had stripped down to his undershirt, and he was fresh as a daisy. Well, near about. His t-shirt was damp with honest sweat. If he was back home, he’d be working with no shirt at all, but he wasn’t sure he ought to do that in polite company.

“Could you hand me that trowel there, Razz?” he asked when his buddy was finished drinking.

Razz handed it over, then wiped the sweat from his forehead. He sure was red in the face.

“Hot, ain’t it?” O’Hanrahan suggested. Razz just grunted. “Maybe you’d better strip down.”

“What, so my muscles can get a look at yours and die of shame? No thanks.” Razz tossed him the canteen, pulled up his wrap and went back to work.

“You do bulge,” Mags admitted, as clinically as she could.

“I’ll say,” Razz muttered.

Well now, a fella couldn’t help that. And anyway, his muscles didn’t bulge so much. Not so much as they used to when he was working all day on the farm. At least, not the same ones.

Maybe he did bulge a bit, at that. He felt himself go hot all the way down to his shoulders, in a way that had nothing to do with the sun. He bulged, and Razz had noticed.

O’Hanrahan shook himself and dug his fingers into the dirt. Things made more sense that way. It gave him something to focus on other than the looks Razz shot his direction when he thought he wasn’t paying attention.

He hoped those looks meant Razz liked what he saw, and not that he was feeling inadequate. When the squad was first put together, O’Hanrahan had wondered if the scrawny little wastelander had ever had a decent meal in his life, but all those months of army discipline and regular feeding had made a world of difference. Razz was...well, he was just fine. Better than fine, in fact. He sure as heck had nothing to be ashamed of. Why, the seams on his uniform threatened to split any time he flexed his arms. In short, Razz bulged, too.

“Water,” Mags prompted, kicking the canteen toward O’Hanrahan again. “God, you boys are...” She frowned at the two of them. “Hey, where’s Poindexter? I thought you roped him into helping you.”

“Oh, he was out here five minutes and got so sunburned he couldn’t move, so he went to lie down.”

Mags lifted an eyebrow. “I’ll just bet he did. And double or nothing he’s lounging in the shade with a glass of lemonade and a magazine.”

“Well, now, maybe so,” O’Hanrahan said. “But it ain’t no never mind to us, Mags. We’re just about done here for the day anyhow.”

“Oh.” Razz threw down his hoe and collapsed in a tired heap. “Thank fuckin’ god.”

O’Hanrahan didn’t point out that he’d said ‘just about done’; with the way Razz looked, it’d be downright cruel. Instead, he said, “It’s almost lunchtime, ain’t it?”

* * *

Contrary to what Mags expected, Dex turned up in the mess hall as red as a pot bellied stove in winter. Seemed like he just had that kind of skin. But that didn’t stop Mags from teasing him for calling it quits early. And she didn’t go easy on Razz, either, when he sprawled facedown across the table and said he was too tired to live.

Meanwhile, O’Hanrahan felt good with a sore back and dirt under his fingernails, only he didn’t want to say so. Not when Razz and Dex were so miserable. All the army training got his blood pumping, but grubbing around in the dirt felt like home. It took some of the edge off pining for the fields and Ma’s home cooking.

Mags popped open a Sunset Sarsaparilla, pocketed the cap and put the bottle to her lips. After a sip, she said, “So, any afternoon plans for you boys? More gardening, perhaps?”

There rose a chorus of “no!” that ranged in tone from mild to severe.

“I ain’t aimin’ to force you into it,” O’Hanrahan said in response to his friends’ dramatics. “You already helped a lot. Well...” He grinned at Poindexter. “As much as you could. Anyhow, _I_ have something else to do today.”

“Hot date?” Mags asked, with a significant glance at Razz.

“Oh, gosh, no!”

“Wild party?” Dex guessed.

“Don’t tease the man, Rutherford,” Razz said without lifting his head from the table.

“It’s not Rutherford!”

O’Hanrahan dug into his InstaMash. Razz sure was having fun making up names to call Poindexter. He’d be disappointed if he ever accidentally found out the right one.

“Ferdinand?”

“No!”

“My sister’s eighteen today,” O’Hanrahan said over the renewed bickering. “If it’s okay with you, Mags, I want to make a radio call up to the Den to surprise her.”

“Wow, eighteen! That’s the Big One. She must be excited, huh?”

“Uh...why? What’s so important about turning eighteen?” Razz asked, then looked at Dex and offhandedly added, “Nicodemus?”

“Well, you know. She’s an adult now. She can drink, she can vote, she can get married...” Mags said. “She doesn’t need parental consent for anything.”

“The laws are different in some of the Territories,” Dex put in, before he turned his attention back to Razz. “And you _know_ it’s not Nicodemus. You’re starting to repeat yourself.”

“She’s a legal adult in California,” Mags said with a shrug. “And that’s the only law that really matters. Anyway, O’Hanrahan, that sounds like a really nice idea. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you. Tell her happy birthday from all of us here at Camp Golf.”

“Gee, that’s awful nice of you, Mags,” O’Hanrahan hedged, moving his potatoes around with his fork, “and I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but… Hex is real interested in the army. I ain’t so sure I ought to tell her it’s interested back.”

Mags’s brows rose, the corners of her mouth turned down, and O’Hanrahan figured he’d better try to walk that back some.

“Please don’t think I got anything against the army or you or the NCR—it’s just my baby sister ain’t the most, uh…” How could he put it? “She ain’t the most restrained little gal.”

“Then some army discipline might do her some good,” Mags said with a hard stare that melted into something softer. “But you can relax, private. I get it.”

“Oh.” O’Hanrahan let out a noise of relief. “I’m glad.”

“Pussy Willow,” Razz said, finally pushing himself up onto his elbows so he could look at Dex.

“That’s the name of a flower!”

“And? You said it was embarrassing.”

“No, what I said was that I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Maybe you should let your sister talk to these two reprobates,” Mags suggested. “That ought to scare her off.”

“Heck, I wouldn’t ask any of you to do that...”

Razz, finally breaking off from antagonizing Dex, took exception to that. “Why the fuck not?”

“Oh—I didn’t, um...” O’Hanrahan suddenly felt like his collar was too tight, but he resisted the urge to tug at it. “I didn’t mean...that you shouldn’t...Do you _want_ to meet my family?” It would make him awful happy for them to get acquainted, but he wouldn’t have thought that was what Razz wanted.

“What, am I not good enough to scare your sister?”

“Why, sure you are!” It didn’t sound very polite, but Razz wasn’t too keen on politeness. Anyway, was there anything else to say to that?

“That’s more like it.” Razz shot out of his seat and stepped over the bench. “Let’s get the fuck to it, farm boy.”

“Er…well….”

“What? You gonna tell me not to cuss?”

“No,” O’Hanrahan said, because he’d long given up hope they’d make any progress on that front. “It’s only...do you think I could finish my lunch first?”

* * *

“So how scared do you want her?”

“Hmm...” O’Hanrahan leaned back in his chair and watched the radio operator fiddle with the knobs. “Gosh, I don’t know. Our little Hex don’t scare easy. If you was to tell her you’d lost a leg, she’d call you a hero and decide she’d better lose two. And if you told her gettin’ a limb blowed off _hurts_ , she’d convince herself she didn’t believe you.”

“You sure she’s farmer stock?” Razz turned experimentally in his own chair, one of those pre-war deals with the wheelies on the bottom. It squeaked something awful, but he got a few full turns out of it, and added a new word every time he faced O’Hanrahan. “And—not—raider stock?”

“Well, my mama—” O’Hanrahan caught himself. He was grinning so hard at Razz being silly he’d forgotten himself for a moment. But Ma O’Hanrahan’s secrets—from before she was a Ma or an O’Hanrahan—were her own. “She, uh, has a past, let’s say.”

Razz’s chair came to a halt. “Your mother was a raider? I thought she was a teacher.”

“Well, yes. And now she’s a farmer.” He didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to get too specific without Ma’s permission. “Things change. You’re a soldier, ain’t you?”

“Holy shit. That means _you’re_ half raider!”

“No, it don’t!”

“Was your father a raider, too?”

“Razz...”

“How come they never taught you how to fight?”

“They _did_. That ain’t the point. Look, you’re welcome to come up to the farm sometime and ask my folks anything you want, but their story ain’t for me to tell.” He cast an eyeball at Private Maxwell, who was still fighting to bounce the radio signal to the right location. He was doing a good job of not hearing their conversation, even if he couldn’t get his radio to work right.

“Fine,” Razz grumped. “Make your dumbass family sound interesting for once, and then just leave me hanging.”

“Now you can look forward to war stories _and_ apple pie,” O’Hanrahan reminded him.

“Hot dog!” The radio operator slammed his palm on the table. “ _Finally_! Better get over here, private, before I lose the damn thing again.”

O’Hanrahan went on over while Private Maxwell moved some wires around. Razz followed, slow, like he didn’t care one way or another about the goings on.

It took a minute for the radio static to stop squealing like a dying animal, and another minute for it to connect. First they got a town to the south of the Den, then the military base to the north of it, then finally someone at Bell’s college who couldn’t understand what the fella on the Mojave end was saying.

“Call for Miss O’Hanrahan,” Maxwell said into his mouthpiece for what must have been the fifth time. There was quiet on the other end.

Then, “You found her?” came in on a burst of static.

“No, we are _trying_ —to _reach_ — _Miss_ — _O’Hanrahan_! She’s one of your students.”

That was the wrong sister, but when O’Hanrahan tried to say so, Maxwell motioned for him to shut up. Well, at least Bell would know he was trying to reach Hex, and it would be nice to talk to both of them after all the time they’d been apart.

“One minute.” The line went dead, and O’Hanrahan settled back, figuring it’d be a time before anyone rustled up the girls.

But before he had a chance to get comfortable, the radio crackled back to life, and he heard Bell’s voice say a tremulous, “Hello?”

“Bell? What’s the matter?” He hadn’t heard her sound like that since they were little kids and he’d had to put her in the root cellar to hide her from a gang of Vipers.

“Hoss?”

“Yeah, it’s me. What happened? Are you hurt?” He couldn’t pick up and leave the army to go to her, but if she needed help, well, he’d just have to find a way, that was all.

But her answer dashed those thoughts to pieces and set a fresh worry on him instead.

“It’s Hex,” she said. “She’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dex has taken some creative liberties with that Lenny and the Squigtones (Minus the Squigtones) classic, _[I'm in Love with Laverne](https://youtu.be/o0K13cTMNLE?t=5m40s)_.
> 
> Because we here at Moon&Synth Industries deal in only the finest esoteric vintage references.


	7. ...G, you look good to me...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for delays on this and other stories. Apparently, escalating nuclear tensions are kind of a downer when writing a post-apocalypse. Go figure. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
>  **Advisories** : the usual violence and problematic language, primarily, though there is a minor, alluded to plot point that could be read as attempted sexual assault. There is also some (mostly) off-screen consensual sexual content.

“Gone?” O’Hanrahan repeated, feeling stupider than he ever had. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

“I mean _gone_. She up and disappeared last week. The sheriff couldn’t find her, no one knows where she is—Pa says I have to come home.” Bell’s voice cracked. “He says if I stay in this here den of iniquity, I’ll get kidnapped, too.”

Before O’Hanrahan could find his voice, Razz leaned over him to take the handset.

“You think someone took off with her?” he asked. Bell caught a breath.

“Who’s that?”

“Who cares who I am? Answer the f—question.”

“It’s all right, Bell. He’s my squadmate,” O’Hanrahan said. He doubted Razz could make things any worse, and he had to be thinking clearer than either of them. Besides, he was mostly minding his manners. It couldn’t hurt to let him talk to her.

“All right,” Bell said doubtfully. “Well, normally I’d say she run off on her own, but she didn’t say anything to me. She didn’t even leave a note.”

“That’s okay. Might not mean anything. You’re in the city, right? What’s it like, crime-wise?”

“I don’t...I don’t know...It’s fairly safe around where we live.” They both knew their baby sister wouldn’t be afraid to go to the bad part of town by herself, but O’Hanrahan supposed the sheriff would have looked into that first thing. If she had wandered off and gotten mugged or worse, someone would have found her already.

“Any raider gangs hanging around outside of town?” Razz asked.

“I don’t think so. Not recently.”

“Slavers?”

“Oh, God!”

“Razz,” O’Hanrahan started, reaching for the receiver, “I don’t think—”

“What? I’m trying to figure out what you _don’t_ have to worry about.”

“You’re scaring Bell,” he whispered.

Razz visibly deflated, looking pinched around the eyes, but before he could say anything Bell’s voice crackled through the speakers.

“I’m already scared, Hoss.” She sniffled loud enough for them to hear. “You don’t have to protect me from things I done—from things I’ve already thought about.”

It was O’Hanrahan’s turn to feel sheepish. He deserved the rebuke, even if his instincts were to protect his baby sisters from every harm the world tried to inflict on them. Bell sure had matured if she chafed under his Mother Hen-ing now. Under other circumstances, he'd have swelled with pride at his meek little Bell growing into her independence.

“There are slavers. Not many, but a few. The law is pretty good about catching them nowadays,” Bell continued, “so they’re real quiet about it. But everyone knows there’s a steady trickle moving between here and the frontier.”

“Yeah, there would be. The Legion’s their best market. But that type of slaver tends to go for people who won’t be missed. Street kids, mostly, or whoever’s filling up a jail cell if the cops are dirty enough to take money for them on the side. They wouldn’t pick up your sister unless she made it real fu—um—easy for them.” He turned to O’Hanrahan with eyes that were full of question and were irritated about it. He wanted to make a good impression but he didn’t _want_ to want to. “There, was _that_ too scary?”

“Please, uh, Hoss’s friend—”

“Razz,” Razz said. And he didn’t correct her none on calling them friends.

“Razz. Hi, Razz.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Don’t listen to my brother. I don’t mind discussing the frightening possibilities if it means we can rule them out. _Thank_ you for your help.”

Razz nudged O’Hanrahan with his elbow.

“I’m _helping_.”

If the situation hadn’t been so darn dire, O’Hanrahan might have grinned at that. As it was, he couldn’t think much past his worry, not even about how cute Razz could be even when he acted a rascal.

“Does she have any friends?” Razz asked. “Maybe they talked her into going somewhere.”

“I don’t think she’s gotten very close to anyone since she moved here. Well, except for What’s-His-Name.”

“What’s-His-Name?” Razz sat up straighter. “She has a boyfriend? People will do all kinds of stupid shit for—Uh, I mean stuff. She might do something dumb for a guy, is what I’m saying.”

“That does sound like her,” Bell admitted. “But What’s-His-Name doesn’t live around here. She’s just been talking to him over the radi—oh.”

“’Oh’?” O’Hanrahan leaned in, right over Razz, so he could talk into the mouthpiece. “What’s ‘oh’?”

“He’s—Hex started hanging around the radio station when it opened. Trying to get friendly with the NCR liaison.” O’Hanrahan could almost hear her wincing on the other end of the line. Any weak hope he had for Hex giving up on her ideas about the military evaporated. “She was learning how to use the long range radio, so she loitered around here nights when she wasn’t working. Just talking into the wasteland to anybody who’d pick up. I thought—I thought it was good for her.”

O’Hanrahan started to speak, but his sister didn’t let him get a word in.

“Damnation!” Bell hollered, and Razz’s eyebrows hit the top of his forehead. “You know how Hex is. She’s got itchy feet. I thought meeting strangers on the radio was better than running off to meet them in person.”

“Bell, you ain’t makin’ any sense, girl,” O’Hanrahan said in a voice that sounded more than a bit like Pa. “Talk plain.”

“She made friends over the radio. Mostly they talked about silly things. How the sky looks in different parts of the wasteland, what music they have, all that. Only there was one fella she got attached to. Maybe attached enough to go find him. Oh, Hoss!” Static crackled over Bell’s wail. “This is all my fault!”

“No it ain’t,” O’Hanrahan started, but Razz interrupted him.

“ _Where_?”

“Um.” He could hear the sound of her fingers tapping against something, the way she did when she tried to jog her memory. “I think...shoot, Hex didn’t tell me much specific about him, but I know he was a real smooth-talker. I think he’s from somewhere in the Mojave. She might have said...Westside?”

“That’s fuckin’ Vegas!” Razz struggled out from between O’Hanrahan and the radio table. He tripped toward the door on clumsy, hurried feet.

“ _Razz_!” O’Hanrahan hissed, but Razz waved him off. He went back to the radio. “Does the sheriff know about this, Bell?”

“No. He asked me if she had any friends in town, but I didn’t think…” He could hear her sigh on the other end. “Hoss, if she wasn’t kidnapped, he can’t just go off to find her. He’s a proper big city lawman. They don’t pull together posses to chase runaways.”

“But he don’t have to! You heard what Razz said, didn’t you? It’s—it’s ding-dang Vegas. _I_ can go find her.” He’d have to rustle up a pass for unscheduled leave—either that or go AWOL and hang the consequences—but he could do it. “How long ago did she leave? You think she’s down here already?”

“About a week ago. The NCR’s got a supply line train that goes part of the way, so I guess that’s enough time,” Bell said with a catch in her voice. “But Hoss, you’re assuming she made it down there in one piece. What if—”

“Never mind what if!” It came out more forceful than he meant it to. “You just sit tight and let me handle it.”

“But Pa—“

“Does Ma know yet?”

There was a thoughtful silence, then, “No. Pa didn’t want to worry her.”

O’Hanrahan allowed himself a moment to thank little Baby Jesus for small favors. If Ma knew, she’d have already pulled on her raiding gear and gone to fetch Hex herself, and she’d have been mighty ornery about it. He could just imagine her hefting that girl up on her shoulders like a sack of tatoes and _carrying_ her all the way back to Oregon.

“Get hold of Pa.” O’Hanrahan scrunched his eyes shut and forced himself to say, “Tell him it turns out she went off to visit me and you only just now found the note. She’s just fine out here in the Mojave. Give me a few days to find her.”

“But what if you can’t? No matter if she was kidnapped or if she ran off…”

She didn’t need to finish. It wouldn’t make no difference to Pa how Hex went missing, only that she did. He’d pull Bell out of school for what he thought was her own good, and she’d go along with it. She wasn’t headstrong like Hex. She didn’t do things without thinking how it’d affect other people. Hex would fight, tooth and claw, for something she wanted; Bell would do as she was told and resign herself to being miserable back on the farm.

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it. You just do your part, you hear? Buy me some time.” He wished he could give her a reassuring hug, but the best he could do was to promise, “I’ll call you again when I have news.” Good or bad, but he didn’t say that part out loud. He had to believe that the news would be good.

* * *

O’Hanrahan stepped out of the tent into the harsh Mojave sunlight, and had to pull up short so he wouldn't crash into the rest of his squad.

“Slow down, private!” Mags grabbed him by the shoulders—not that she could have held him if he’d decided to keep moving, but he did stop. He owed her an explanation.

“Mags, I’m sorry, but I need—“

“Supplies? Don’t worry, Dex already packed for you.” She thrust a folded piece of paper into his hand. “I called in some favors, but the best I could get you was a three day pass. Even with travel time, that gives you at least one full day in town. More, if you hurry.”

“You...you’re letting me go off base?”

“Of course. It’s an emergency.” Catching his hesitation, she frowned. “It _is_ an emergency, isn’t it? The way Razz was talking—“

“Of course it’s an emergency,’ Razz interrupted. “Look, there’s a supply caravan that said they’d give us a lift part of the way, but they’re leaving _now_ , so let’s go.”

“Do you mean you’re coming with me?” O’Hanrahan asked. He supposed that was a foolish question, since Razz was already buckling on his rucksack, but all of a sudden O’Hanrahan felt like everything was moving too fast for him to keep up with.

“Of course I’m coming with you,” said Razz. “Mags can’t just take off for a few days like a couple of grunts can. And you know you don’t want to take Benedict, there. He’d be no help at all.”

“And that’s why I’ve distributed the heavier items into _your_ pack,” Dex muttered. “Benedict, indeed.”

“Gee,” O’Hanrahan said softly. “I didn’t mean for you to have to help me. I could do this on my own.”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course we’re helping you,” Razz said, with a roll of his eyes that somehow came off more affectionate than annoyed. “You help _us_ all the time.”

“But...” But that wasn’t the same thing, O’Hanrahan wanted to say. Sure, he liked to do things for people. He was a helper by nature. But he didn’t often get anything in return, besides the pleasure of seeing his friends made happy. He didn’t think they owed him anything for it.

“But what?” Razz asked, with more than a hint of challenge in his voice.

“But nothing,” O’Hanrahan said meekly.

“We’ll contact the embassy on the Strip,” Dex said, as he held up the second ruck for O’Hanrahan to slip over his shoulders. “If her intention is still to enlist, they’ll be able to hold her until you arrive.”

“That’s assuming she’s able to get onto the Strip,” Mags pointed out. “We’d better contact McCarran, too. They can’t stop her from joining up, but they can give you a chance to see her first. And even if she’s just here for the guy, at least they can keep an eye out for anyone matching her description. You’re not in this alone, okay? You have the whole army behind you.”

“Thanks, Mags.”He hugged her with one arm and Dex with the other, taking them both by surprise. Neither of them reacted like they _wanted_ a hug, so he let them go before they had a chance to protest.

“You dolt,” Dex said, once he’d recovered his balance. “You don’t have time for that nonsense.” But he smiled, so O’Hanrahan supposed there were no hard feelings.

He turned to Razz, who eyed him warily.

“You gonna hug _me_?”

“I reckon you’re hoping I won’t.”

“Oh...” Razz stood at attention, chin up like he faced a firing squad. “Go on.”

O’Hanrahan didn’t wait to be told twice. He hugged Razz so hard he lifted him clear off the ground. Startled, Razz grabbed at his shoulders and held on for dear life.

“You’re a good friend, Razz.”

“Like hell I am! I’m just using you to get to the Strip. Now put me down, already.”

“Sorry!” He set Razz on his feet, and tried to ignore the snickers coming from Mags and Dex.”You’re still a good friend. You didn’t have to get involved in all this.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted me to scare off your sister. This just means I get to do it in person.”

* * *

A brahmin-drawn supply cart didn’t move much faster than a man could walk, but the brahmin could go the better part of a day without needing to stop for a rest. It was safer, too. Most of the critters and bandits that might have tried their luck against two lone men thought the better of it when it came to a big, well-armed group, so their ride was uneventful. O’Hanrahan was too worried about Hex to make any small talk, but Razz didn’t seem to mind. For the most part, he just watched the horizon and smoked.

“Why do you smoke them things so much?” O’Hanrahan finally asked. Razz made an effort not to blow smoke in his direction these days, but he could still smell it. It sure didn’t seem like the kind of thing a fella would do to himself on purpose.

“If I don’t smoke, I...” He looked embarrassed. “I’m not much fun to be around. Last time I tried cutting down, I turned into such a jackass, _I_ didn’t want to put up with me.” He took another drag, and grimaced. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“What, put up with you? It ain’t such an ordeal. Just takes practice.”

“Huh.” He rolled his half-finished cigarette between his fingers for a second and then held it out to O’Hanrahan. “Want to try it? It’s good for stress. Oh—I forgot, Baby Jesus doesn’t like smoking, right?”

“I suspect it’s more that _Ma_ don’t like smoking. I ain’t found nothing about cigarettes in the Bible. But ours is missing some parts out of the middle, so it’s hard to say for sure.” He considered taking a puff just to see how it would feel, but even if the Good Lord didn’t mind it so much, O’Hanrahan couldn’t imagine he would enjoy smoking. Even Razz didn’t act like he _liked_ it.

“If you want one later, I always have some on me.” He finished the one he'd been working on and flicked the stubby end into the dirt behind them.

They lapsed into silence. After a time, Razz leaned against a sack of flour and dozed off. O’Hanrahan kept his eyes on the horizon. Not even Razz could keep his mind off his troubles this time.

* * *

It was full dark when they parted ways from the supply wagon, still ten miles out from New Vegas. O’Hanrahan could make that distance in a little more than an hour if he pushed himself. Even keeping to a pace that wouldn’t leave Razz in the dust, they could reach town in good time.

But Razz was already tired, and they couldn’t even be sure Hex had got in yet. Might be they’d do better to get a fresh start come morning.

“Think we ought to camp here for the night?” he asked.

“And miss all the good stuff?” Razz turned toward the smudge of colored light on the horizon with an unmistakable look of longing.

“Razz...”

“I know, I know! We have shit to do. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to ditch you for blackjack and hookers. Just wanted to look.”

“No, I know you wouldn’t do such a thing. But you’re too tired to live, remember?”

“Oh, _that_.” Razz snorted. “Don’t start dragging your feet when we’re this close.”

“If you’re sure...”

“You’re always worrying about other people, aren’t you? Jesus, try focusing on yourself for a change.”

That sounded like well-meant advice, even if it wasn’t put in the most patient manner, so O’Hanrahan shouldered his rucksack and turned toward the lights of town.

An army ruck, with every last piece of equipment the army issued to go into it, weighed in at around a hundred and twenty pounds. There were extra straps that distributed the weight in a way that was easier to bear, but even so, most folks didn’t bother with a full kit when they marched out. The necessities were heavy enough. Add in twenty-six pounds of uniform and body armor, eight and a half for the service rifle if you were lucky enough not to have been issued something clumsier, two more for the sidearm, one for the combat knife, and then anything else a fella might choose to carry for the needs of the moment. All together, that added up to...some big number O’Hanrahan could have worked out if he’d had a pencil and paper.

Some folks would sink to the ground under that burden. O’Hanrahan wouldn’t, but he couldn’t go all out, either.

An hour closer to New Vegas, at what still felt like an impossible distance, they decided to lighten their load by eating some of the CRAM Poindexter had packed. Razz, to his credit, was hardly out of breath even though O’Hanrahan couldn’t seem to remember to keep to a reasonable pace. All their work together had helped more than just his reading.

“I’m awful glad you came along,” O’Hanrahan said. He knew he was repeating himself, but he also knew he’d be lost without Razz. Maybe literally.

“What was I going to do, send you out alone? You’d fall down a hole.”

“Aw, you old mush pot.”

Razz looked like he wanted to say something to that, but he stuffed some CRAM in his mouth to stop himself.

“We should be there soon,” he said after he’d given himself a chance to chew and swallow. O’Hanrahan sighed.

“Then comes the hard part.”

“Oh, don’t look so bummed, farm boy. We’ll find the little brat.”

“But I don’t even know where to start!” Talking to Bell, it had seemed easy to run out and get her. But New Vegas was a bigger town than O’Hanrahan had ever seen. A person could get lost there. And he didn’t even know if his sister wanted to be found.

“Don’t panic,” Razz snapped. “Jesus, you look like a scared rat. Or...puppy, I guess? I’ve never actually seen one. Just trust me, okay? I know this place. I know who to talk to. I won’t steer you wrong.”

“I know, Razz, and I do trust you. It’s just my nature to worry.”

“Oh.” Razz stopped dead in his tracks. “You...trust me?”

“’Course I do.”

“Oh.” Razz said again. Then he cleared his throat and resumed walking. O’Hanrahan couldn’t be sure if he blushed or not. “Right. Anyway, we should probably cut around the north side. It takes longer, but you don’t want to get caught in Fiend territory after dark. Especially dressed like this.” He plucked at the sleeve of his uniform and shook his head.

“You don’t expect we’ll run into any more of your old friends, do you?” O’Hanrahan asked, thinking of that Mike fella, and all that blood, and the look in Razz’s eyes when he’d come away from it. He’d go as far out of his way as he had to, to avoid seeing _that_ again.

“No, I told you, they’re all dead. My group, anyway. There’ll always be more Fiends around somewhere.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. They all deserved it.” He took out a cigarette and hesitated over lighting it. “You know how many times we raided McCarran? We raised a lot of hell there. Killed...probably a lot of good people. Or maybe they were all a bunch of assholes, but they were still just doing their jobs. The army finally had to send in First Recon to beat us back.” He laughed dryly. “And it worked. We never knew what hit us.”

“What happened?” O’Hanrahan asked quietly, so as not to startle Razz out of his talking mood.

“All that shit they say about First Recon, ‘the last thing you never see’ and all that? It’s all true. Half of us were dead before we even knew we weren’t alone. The guy next to me was cracking some shitty joke, and the next thing I knew, the side of my face was wet and his head was just—gone. Right in the middle of the punchline. And of course his fucking twelve gauge went off in his hand and shredded the shit out of my leg. Lame, right? But at least I can say one of the snipers got me, too. Missed the heart and hit the lung. I remember I was on the ground, bleeding out, when Mike and the others pussed out and ran, and I was just getting more and more pissed off that I couldn’t drag him back into the fight.”

“You mean he _left_ you?”

Razz straightened up, looking like he’d just remembered where he was.

“Of course he fucking left me. You don’t get into the Fiends by being the kind of person who’d stop to help a guy who’s probably dying anyway. They all wanted to save their own asses—not that it helped most of them. That’s how people act in the real world.”

“Not in my world! I would _never_ do that to you, Razz. I couldn’t leave my friends to die alone.”

“Yeah, sure. You’d get yourself killed running _into_ sniper fire.” He shook his head with another bitter laugh. “You know what’s really fucking weird? I _believe_ you.” He started walking again without giving O’Hanrahan a chance to answer.

O’Hanrahan didn’t think it was so very strange to be willing to risk his own neck to help a friend. That was just what it meant to care about someone. He’d take his buddy’s word for it that the Fiends didn’t care about each other that way...but he was awful glad Razz was done with that way of living. He deserved better than what his life had been.

“Around this way is a fuck-ton of little farms and shit,” Razz explained, as they walked. “They get hit for their water sometimes, but that usually doesn’t go so great. Everybody knows the NCR covers their own ass if it comes to a missing meal. Plus, they’re right next to the Gun Runners.” He sighed happily. “You know those guys? I’d fucking _kill_ for some of the shit they sell.”

“So why don’t you buy something?” O’Hanrahan suggested.

“It’s fucking expen—“ He froze, so suddenly O’Hanrahan nearly ran into him. “I have a _job_!”

“Well...yes?”

“For fuck’s sake—I know it sounds dumb as hell to say it like that, but I never thought about it before. The army pays you every month, right? It’s not like raiding and scavving, where you only get your caps if you _do_ something to get them. Trade or rob someone or some shit. And I’ve barely been spending anything—it’s not like _I_ have to send all my pay to my little gray-haired mother on the farm. It’s all just piling up in the bank!”

“My ma’s yellow-haired,” O’Hanrahan protested. “The gray don’t hardly show.” And she wasn’t little, either, but that didn’t matter. Razz wasn’t listening anyway.

“I’m rich! Fucking hell, I wonder how much I have. Maybe I can buy one of those big-ass swords that shoots flames out the sides!”

“We’ll have a look before we have to head back to base,” O’Hanrahan said with a fond smile. He didn’t think he’d ever seen his buddy so excited. And even if he was excited about weapons and violence, that wasn’t so bad. A flaming sword was downright Biblical.

“Yes! You know, you’re all right...Hoss?” He shook his head. “I can’t do it. You’re O’Hanrahan.”

“Shoot, that’s all right. I kinda like the way you say it. But, you know, I’d call you by your first name if you had one.” And then, because he thought Razz had something coming after the hard time he’d been giving Poindexter, O’Hanrahan added, “I think you look like a Henry.”

“ _Henry_?”

“We could call you Hank for short.”

“I am not a Hank!”

“Hunk?”

“That—that’s not a name,” Razz sputtered.

“Sure, it is! I knew a Hunk back in Oregon. Him and his brother Thunk was the hired boys over at the Larraby place. Hex and Thunk used to go steppin’ together, but it didn’t last long. She never could let herself forget how she beat the tar out of him when she was a young ’un.” Hex never was satisfied with the village boys. Or the girls, for that matter. Her tastes ran to suitors in shiny brass buttons and frilly bows, not beat up denim and calico.

He tried not to think of her with the slick city fella who’d lured her away from home.

“What the fuck kind of names are Hunk and Thunk?”

“Hill mutant ones, I guess.” O’Hanrahan scratched his neck and started up walking again. Razz fell into step beside him.

“Your sister dated a _Super Mutant_?”

“Gosh, no! Hunk and Thunk ain’t proper mutants, that’s just what folks call ‘em ‘cause they’re a bit funny.” O’Hanrahan felt his face flush in embarrassment. “I guess that ain’t so nice, thinkin’ on it.”

“Why? I mean, why do they call them that?”

“Them and their kin have been livin’ in the hills since long before the war. I think Pa said their line goes all the way back to the first nucular tests in the desert.” O’Hanrahan pondered on just how to put it. “They’re more feral than mutated, I s’pose. That is, feral like dogs, not like ghouls.”

“Huh.”

“When I was a boy, Hunk and Thunk’s bunch came to our part of the territory.” He chuckled, but more from awkwardness than humor. “The old timers said they come from heathen gods, but that’s just superstitious folderol.”

“Oregon sounds weird.”

“Guess it does, at that.”

“I think I’d like to see it someday,” Razz said, making a point not to look O’Hanrahan’s direction.

“I’d like to show it to you.”

They lapsed into silence and passed a few minutes like that, occupied with their own thoughts.

He sure would like to have Razz come home with him sometime. Oregon territory wasn’t real exciting, but it was home. Likely Razz had never seen anything like the green of the Gecked Lands, or even the apple trees out behind the farmhouse. But there was no sense thinking so far ahead. Not with Hex missing or—or maybe worse.

If she was all right, he’d let himself think like that. But if she wasn’t, he couldn’t imagine facing his parents even under happier circumstances like introducing them to...whatever Razz turned out to be to him.

“So tell me more about your sister,” said Razz at last, shaking him out of his dark thoughts. “What does she look like? What kind of shit does she like to do? Anything that’ll help us find her.”

“Well, you seen her picture.” He patted his shirt pocket to feel the shape of that photo of her and Bell. “She’s real pretty, of course. And she’s got the O’Hanrahan coloring, red hair and a mess of freckles across her nose. She says her eyes are hazel, but they look plain brown to me. She was always jealous that Bell got Ma’s blue eyes. ‘Bout the only thing Bell ever did get that Hex wanted.”

“And how tall is she? Another seven footer like you?”

“I ain’t nowhere near that tall! Why, I’m only six foot seven.”

“Only?” Razz snorted. “I bet you can see your house from up there.”

“You ought to see some of my kin from the Jorgenssen side. They call me Little Feller. Anyhow, Hex is the runt of the litter in both families. She ain’t even quite six feet tall, unless you count all that hair.” He smiled, remembering the way he used to muss up her curls so they’d stick straight out. Then it occurred to him that Razz must be an inch or two shorter than Hex. Maybe he shouldn’t have called her a runt. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

O’Hanrahan gestured vaguely at his buddy and his lack of height. “I didn’t mean to suggest...”

“That I’m fucking short?” Razz looked mad long enough to make O’Hanrahan’s heart stop, then he burst out laughing. “I _am_ fucking short!”

“You ain’t offended?”

“You’re a total god damn loser.” Razz cackled, which wasn’t exactly an answer but seemed like all O’Hanrahan was going to get.

* * *

They walked for a long time, until the soft darkness got deeper around them. The glow of Vegas in the distance lit up half the sky, swallowing up the stars O’Hanrahan would have used to tell the time, but he guessed it was around midnight. Maybe a bit later.

There was a cluster of houses north of the city. It wasn’t likely Hex would be in any of them, but they decided to search them anyhow, since it was on their way. But aside from a lanky fella who asked them to stay and take a look at the plot of his novel, there wasn’t much to be found. O’Hanrahan would have liked to stay and talk to the writer—he loved stories, and new ones were rarer than a one-headed calf—but they didn’t have the time. Besides, the man’s wife was trying to sleep.

By the time they’d cleared that area, O’Hanrahan knew it must be past one or two. He found himself staring at nothing and letting Razz do all the talking.

“You’re fading on me,” Razz said. “Why don’t you pop a—fuck!”

“What’s the matter?” O’Hanrahan asked, startled out of his stupor.

“Nothing! I just didn’t mean to say that.”

“All right.” That was an awful loud reaction to nothing, but he wouldn’t push.

“Anyway, you should have a Nuka. Get some energy back. Or else crash here for a couple hours.”

“Sleep? But we’re so close to Westside!”

“Where everyone else will be asleep by now,” Razz pointed out. “It’s not a town with much of a night life. Besides, what use will you be if you pass out while you’re walking around?”

“I won’t...” He had to fight down a yawn.

“Oh, don’t be fucking stubborn. You’ve been up since the ass-crack of dawn. It’s not that big a deal if you’re tired. Anyone would be.”

“You ain’t.”

“I slept in the cart.” He pointed to the nearest unoccupied house. “Go. Sleep. Two hours, or I don’t move another step. I’ll keep watch while you do. Or, better yet, barricade the door and I’ll go prowl around the North Square. That’ll save us some time.”

“Shucks, I don’t suppose I have a choice.” He couldn’t help smiling. Even if he’d have preferred for Razz to give him his own way sometimes.

“Damn right you don’t have a choice.” Razz sat down and started to unlace his boots.

“What are you doing that for?”

“I can’t go into the Square looking like a fucking NCR soldier. They _hate_ us there. Shit, we’ll have enough trouble when we get to Westside.”

Razz got down to his pants, undershirt, and socks—Ma’s red-and-yellow-striped ones, O’Hanrahan noted, patched with duct tape where they’d gotten torn. He wrapped his bootlaces around his pant legs to keep them from puffing out, army-style, and he stuck some throwing knives through the laces so they’d look like they had a purpose. Then he stood up for O’Hanrahan’s inspection.

“How do I look?”

“Fine!”

O’Hanrahan thought he might have been a touch _too_ appreciative just then, but land sakes, Razz didn’t have no cause to worry about comparisons between the two of them.

“Fucking—do I look like a _drifter_?”

“Oh! That! Sure! That is, I ain’t known many drifters. One, really. He was a ghoul. You don’t look like him. But you don’t look too military, neither.” Except for being in the kind of shape the army expected of its soldiers. “Do you need your boots?” O’Hanrahan asked, since he’d forgotten how to stop talking. At least talking about feet wasn’t going to make him stammer.

“That’d be a dead giveaway. Nobody who belongs in the North Square could get their hands on gear like this. No holes. If they had it, they wouldn’t wear it, they’d sell it.”

“I know what you mean. I do!” he insisted when he saw Razz looking doubtful. “I know about _some_ things. First pair of shoes I ever had, I knew it was a terrible expense and my folks couldn’t afford it. But Ma put her foot down on account of my losing a toe to frostbite.” He shook his head fondly. “It was just the tip. She acted like I didn’t have nine more. The caps would have been better spent on something that would do all of us some good. But I suppose I can’t blame Ma for being overprotective—but I’m talking too much.”

“So? You never stop talking about your family.”

Maybe so, but he was coming close to yammering away about a time he and his folks didn’t speak of, not ever. It was about time to change the subject.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea for us to split up?” he asked.

“Of course it is. Don’t worry, farm boy, we got this. We got this by the ass!” He clapped O’Hanrahan on the shoulder, then handed over all his extra gear. “Keep it warm for me. Or...something, I don’t know what that even means.”

“I’ll be waiting,” O’Hanrahan said. “You keep yourself safe.”

* * *

A noise at the door brought O’Hanrahan out of a surprisingly deep sleep. He reached for the combat knife he’d left under his makeshift pillow, but it was just Razz at the door. He grinned when he saw O’Hanrahan’s knife.

“You listened to me?”

“I don’t sleep this way back on base, but it seemed like a good idea out here.” He yawned. “I don’t suppose you had any luck?”

“No, but I didn’t really think I would. At least now we won’t have to come back here. You feel any better?”

“I do!” He was surprised to be able to say it, but a nap had left him refreshed and ready to go. “What about you, buddy? If you want to rest your eyes for a minute, we’re already stopped.” He lifted the corner of his blanket invitingly.

“No! I’m fine. We should go.”

“I meant I’d get out first.” O’Hanrahan wormed his way out of the nest of blankets, still holding the top one up so Razz could get under it.

“Oh...fine. Half an hour. Then we move out.” He sat, and started to reach for the blanket O’Hanrahan was holding. Unthinking, O’Hanrahan leaned forward to wrap it snugly around his buddy’s shoulders.

He stayed that way a second longer than he meant to, with his arms around Razz, pulling him off balance so his back rested against O’Hanrahan’s chest. Then Razz’s shoulders stiffened, and O’Hanrahan released him and retreated to the far side of the room.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s cold out there. You go ahead and warm up. Under the blankets.” _Without me._

“Thanks,” Razz said quietly, snuggling down into the pallet O’Hanrahan had made on the floor. “You gonna stick around?”

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” O’Hanrahan got to his feet and crossed the room to the only chair still standing. It wobbled and groaned under his weight when he sat down, but at least it didn’t collapse. “Ain’t no place to go ‘til the sun comes up. Besides, I gotta be around to get you up.”

Razz made a sound that didn’t nearly qualify as a word, but sufficed for an answer. He pulled the blanket over his head. Before long, he was snoring.

It would be mighty peculiar to sit there all night watching Razz sleep, so O’Hanrahan set about putting their gear in order. When it was time to go, all they’d have to do would be to roll up the blankets and get Razz back into his uniform. Not that he wasn’t dressed well enough already, it wasn’t like he’d been wandering around naked, but...

O’Hanrahan lost his train of thought. It melted into a bunch of pictures he shouldn’t have in his head. Razz working on their vegetable patch with his shirt sleeves gone, and what bare skin he’d glimpsed meant for the rest of him. Hell, forget sleeves. O’Hanrahan’s imagination did away with the shirt entirely, but that raised two new sets of images. Was Razz a real fuzzy fella, with chest hair to idly trace through with a finger? Or a smoother fella, real well defined, all light and shadow in the hills and valleys between muscles...

O’Hanrahan swallowed hard. He was not supposed to be having these thoughts. Not about his squadmate. Heck, not about his _friend_. Razz had enough trouble accepting that his friendship came with no conditions attached, without throwing any lustful thoughts into the mix.

Gosh, he needed something to keep himself busy.

* * *

It was at least an hour later when he decided to build himself a fire and boil enough water for two cups of army coffee. Razz was out cold. But when O’Hanrahan poured the powder into the hot water and the smell wafted across the room, the pile of blankets twitched and then _exploded_ as Razz came tunneling out of them.

“You made coffee?” He blinked rapidly, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. “ _Hot_ coffee? Fuck, you’re amazing. I’d have drunk it cold.” He accepted the tin cup O’Hanrahan held out to him, and took a careful sip. “Mmm, tastes like ass.” He grinned. “But hot ass. The best kind.”

O’Hanrahan didn’t want to think about hot behinds, so he said, “Next time I’ll make you the kind of coffee we drink on the farm. Tastes real good, but it takes time to roast all that corn.”

“Cool. Then I’ll make you some Fiend coffee. It’ll fuck you up. It’s mostly bourbon.”

“Mostly?”

“Okay, so it’s _just_ bourbon. But you drink it out of a dirty coffee cup. That’s what you call a liquid breakfast.”

“Razz, it is a dang miracle you’re still alive.” And he really meant that. The Lord looked after some folks who didn’t, or couldn’t, look after themselves. And O’Hanrahan was just glad He did.

Razz sipped some more of his coffee, groaned with pleasure in a way O’Hanrahan tried real hard not to find distressing, and then set the cup aside. He shook off the last of the blankets so he could feel around the pallet. “Where the fuck are my shoes?”

“Oh, I got ‘em.” O’Hanrahan put his own cup down so he could retrieve the boots from where he’d left them beside his chair.

“You _shined_ them?” Razz asked when he handed them over.

O’Hanrahan shrugged. “I had some thinkin’ to do.” He turned his foot sideways to show that his were shined up, too. “I think with my hands.”

“What the fuck were you thinking about that made you shine my boots?”

O’Hanrahan knew ‘you, shirtless in the hayloft after we put the brahmin out to pasture’ wasn’t the answer Razz was looking for, so he said, “Uh...puppies?”

“’Uh, puppies?’” Razz repeated flatly.

“Yep.” He had thought about puppies for a minute, but the images wouldn’t stick in his mind like they usually did. Razz kept crowding them out. Golly, he was addled like he’d never been before.

“You’re not getting any better at lying, you know. You’re still terrible at it.”

“I ain’t?—I am?” Oh, it was true. He was hopeless.

“You can’t bullshit a bullshitter. You’re all tied up in knots worrying about your sister, right?” He shoved both feet into his boots and stood, not bothering with the laces. “Fuck, you didn’t have to let me sleep. Let’s get out of here. Maybe we can make up some of the time we wasted.”

“No—Razz, lace your boots. Another minute won’t make much difference. And this wasn’t a waste of time. It was a necessity.” He picked up the nearest blanket and rolled it up while Razz, grumbling, started whipping his shoelaces through their holes as quick as he could. O’Hanrahan felt a wave of affection and gratitude for his friend’s support—and underneath it, a stab of guilt. Because he _should_ have been worrying about Hex the whole time, shouldn’t he? What was he doing thinking of his own affairs when he knew she was in trouble?

No, darn it. His own…issues, not affairs. He wasn’t thinking about affairs.

His brain, apparently bent on sabotaging him, supplied a playful scenario just like in them books Bell kept hidden away in the barn: the tenderfoot farmer and the well-hung stable boy. O’Hanrahan could play the farmer and Razz…

“Mighty stuffy in here, ain’t it?” O’Hanrahan shook away his thoughts and headed for the door. He needed some air.

Outside, the sun crested over the horizon, painting the sky with the pink and gold of dawn. They’d officially eaten up a whole day of their pass and with nothing to show for it.

“Two days left,” Razz said, echoing his thoughts. He had his rucksack slung over his shoulder; he handed the other one to O’Hanrahan.

“It ain’t much time, but...”

“But we’ll make the most of it,” Razz finished for him. “And, hell, if we need more time to find her, we’ll just stay out here. I mean, what are they going to do if we don’t get back in time? Shoot us?”

“ _Yes_ , Razz. That’s exactly what they do to deserters.”

“Oh...Really?” He shrugged. “Guess we’d better get going, then.”

* * *

They walked. All the way around the city without ever setting foot inside, it felt like. They talked to every person they found on the way, and that slowed them down some, but at least there weren’t many folks out and about this early in the day. None of them knew anything about Hex.

Finally, Razz stopped. He motioned for O’Hanrahan to do the same.

“There it is,” said Razz. “Westside. It’s a shithole, but the people look out for each other. You’ll probably like it there. They have this farm...co-op...thing.”

“That does sound nice!”

“I knew you’d say that. Hey, while we’re here, do you mind if I ditch you for a few minutes? There’s a fighting ring down in the sewers. I want to see if Lucy held on to my gear.”

“In the _sewers_?” O’Hanrahan echoed.

“Yeah, I know how it sounds, but there’s plenty of room for the ring and the stands and everything—and that’s not what you’re worried about, is it?”

“More the smell,” O’Hanrahan confessed.

“Westside hasn’t had working toilets in two hundred years. The sewers don’t smell any worse than the rest of this place.” He had to take a second to think about that. “Maybe a little worse. I don’t think the cages ever get cleaned. But anyway, let’s just worry about Westside for now. Brace yourself.”

He pushed open the wooden door, and O’Hanrahan found himself facing down a solid wall of green muscle, even bigger than he was. And it moved like lightning.

* * *

He woke up in a strange bed, with a splitting headache and no idea how he’d gotten there.

He’d never had a splitting headache before. He’d always thought a splitting headache was just a _bad_ headache, but no, it really did feel like his noggin had been split in two.

There were people looming over him in the dark—a whole lot of strangers, a super mutant, and Razz. O’Hanrahan focused on his buddy.

“What hit me?” he asked.

“Mean Sonofabitch,” Razz said, glaring at the super mutant. O’Hanrahan gathered that was the green fella’s name. “Don’t you remember?”

“I remember opening the gate...” After that, it all went fuzzy.

“SHOWWY,” said the mutant. He sounded more like a little kid who’d gotten himself in trouble than a mutant who’d just about knocked a grown man’s head off. “YOH U’FORM,” he explained. “I GO’ SHUPWISHE.”

“You can’t ‘get surprised’ every time you see an army uniform,” Razz snapped. It sounded like he was having an easier time understanding the super mutant’s garbled speech than O’Hanrahan was. They must have known each other from before.

“Say, Razz, it’s all right,” O’Hanrahan started to say. He was feeling much better already, and Mean Sonofa...that green fella said he was sorry. They didn’t have to keep fighting. But Razz cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“Don’t you even try to tell me to turn the other cheek, O’Hanrahan! He cracked your skull like an egg! If Pretty Sarah didn’t keep stimpaks on hand, you’d be dead by now.”

“HE HI’ ME FUHS,” the super mutant said petulantly.

“You asshole, _you_ hit _me_ first!” Razz turned to give O’Hanrahan the same glare he’d been giving the super mutant. It wasn’t easy with, O’Hanrahan now saw, one eye swollen shut and his nose pointing a ways to the right.

“Razz, your face!”

“Yeah, yeah, my face. I noticed. You know, he would have calmed down once he saw who I was. But no, you had to flip the fuck out and punch him in the nose!”

“Golly, I did that?”

“YEH,” said the super mutant. “SHO I HI’ YOU BACK. WIV A HAMMAH. I OVAH-WEE-ACK. SHOWWY.”

“I’m sorry I ever called you a pussy,” Razz said gruffly. “It takes a real badass to punch a super mutant in the face. Now don’t ever do it again!”

“Why—I can’t promise that,” O’Hanrahan said, to Razz’s obvious shock. “Do you expect me to stand by and watch you take a beating?”

“ _Yes_ , O’Hanrahan! Any normal person would!”

“If that’s so, I reckon I don’t want to be normal. But I do apologize for hitting you, Mr. Sonofa...Gun.” Even if he couldn’t remember the fight, he should still make amends for his part in it. Besides, O’Hanrahan knew what kind of people joined the army sometimes. They weren’t all as nice as the folks in his platoon. And he knew how the NCR in general felt about super mutants. He wasn’t such a dope that he couldn’t imagine why the Mean Fella might have a good reason to be “surprised” to the point of violence by the sight of an army uniform. That didn’t make it all right to go around breaking people’s noses or hitting them in the head with sledgehammers, but at least O’Hanrahan could understand why such a thing might happen.

“ISH OKEH. YOU HI’ ME...” He held his thumb and finger a little way apart. “I HI’ BIGGEH.” He picked up the sledgehammer he’d left leaning against the wall. “I GO BACK WOHK. GU’BYE, O...HAM...” He shrugged. “GU’BYE, AHMY GUY.”

The humans in the room made way for him with a reasonable sense of urgency. Nobody stood around when a super mutant was coming through. But they didn’t act like they were afraid of him. And that was nice. He seemed like a decent fella. It was good he’d found a place to belong.

“We should go, too,” Razz said, “if you’re ready.”

O’Hanrahan tried to stand, and found that he could when he put his mind to it. He wanted to tilt first one way and then the other, but with one hand on the wall for balance, he was all right. He thought he might be back to normal in a minute or two.

The other people shapes that had been behind the big green fella swam into focus, or maybe they’d stepped into the light. O’Hanrahan shook his head, regretted that, and blinked a few times instead.

“I appreciate the hospitality,” O’Hanrahan said to the prettiest of the three women, once he could see that’s what they were. She giggled and shook her head.

“I’m Sweetie. I only work here.”

“ _I’m_ Pretty Sarah,” said the one in the middle, who looked like she’d survived a fire. O’Hanrahan tried not to let his surprise show, in consideration of her feelings, but it was plain to see that Pretty Sarah was one of them ironic nicknames.

“Then, thank you, ma’am. It was right kind of you to help out.”

“God damn, where’d you dig this one up?” she asked Razz. Most of the harshness had drained out of her voice, but she still didn’t sound exactly friendly.

“Some farm, I guess,” Razz said with a shrug. “You get used to it after a while. So what do I owe you for the stimpak?”

“Don’t worry about it. I owed you one. Now we can call it even.”

“Shit, that’s not like you,” said Razz.

“You caught me in a good mood.” She cast her eyes toward the exit. “I suggest you get out of here before that changes.”

O’Hanrahan thanked her again, but Razz hustled him out the door like he knew she meant business.

The sun was high in the sky when they stepped outside those nice folks’ apartment building, and bright enough to blind after the gloom indoors. O’Hanrahan winced at the thought of how much time they’d lost.

“Gosh, I must have been out for a while,” he said.

“Yeah. Turns out your skull’s not much thicker than anyone else’s. And I was starting to think nothing could ever take you down.” Another time, Razz might have been teasing him, but now he sounded serious, even subdued.

“It came out right in the end, thank the Lord,” O’Hanrahan reminded him. “But while we’re on the subject, how come you ain’t hurt worse than you are? Not that I’m complaining.”  


“Oh...” Razz reached up to prod his own bruises. “Yeah, I’d like to say I’m just that good, but no. He recognized me. He couldn’t stop himself, but he pulled his punch.”

“I’m awful sorry to be such a bother, Razz,” O’Hanrahan said. “Between this and bein’ fit to drop last night, I’ve cost us a lot of what little time we got. I s’pose you’ll be going to visit your friend in the sewers now? I can manage on my own for awhile, if you want to.”

“Oh, _hell_ no! I’m not turning my back on you for a minute. You’ll get your dumb ass murdered.”

“I ain’t going to get murdered,” O’Hanrahan protested.

“You almost did once already! Do you even fucking understand that?”  


“Yes, Razz, I understand—I ain’t as thick as all that.” Raising his own voice sent a pain shooting through his head. Miss Sarah’s stimpak might have put him back together, but he was still feeling none too perky. “Don’t holler at me right now,” he sighed. “My head hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Razz whispered, so low O’Hanrahan almost couldn’t hear him.

“What?”

“I said I’m—you know what, fuck you!” Razz yelled. O’Hanrahan winced. “Of course your head hurts! You just got your _brains_ splattered all over the _walls_!”

“Razz, if you don’t stop yelling, I’ll—”

“What? _What_ are you going to do?” He dropped halfway into a fighting stance, even though he _had_ to know, after all this time, that O’Hanrahan was never going to try to hit him.

“I’ll be be sick all over your boots,” O’Hanrahan said, feeling pretty green. He found the nearest building and leaned up against it. Moving, yelling, all that sudden light; it was a bit much to handle straight off a head injury with a stimpak in him that hadn’t quite finished its job.

“Oh, fuck,” Razz said, making an effort to keep his voice low.

After a minute or so, the threat of nausea subsided. O’Hanrahan’s vision gradually sharpened and the world stopped feeling sideways.

“You dying on me?” Razz asked, staring at him with wild eyes. His stance hadn’t changed. He was still ready to beat the stuffing out of O’Hanrahan if he insisted on acting a fool.

It didn’t make him feel worse to smile a little, so he did. “Put your hands down, Razz. You’re about the toughest fella I ever met, but I reckon I could lick you if I tried.”

“You want to _lick_ me?”

“Gosh...I never thought about how that sounds...” O’Hanrahan felt his face go hot. “I just meant...if you came at me, I’m pretty darn sure I could beat you off.” Oh, golly! That didn’t sound any better! “I mean—!”

“Oh, so now you want to beat me off?” It was hard to tell if Razz was offended or amused, but at least he wasn’t ready to fight no more.

“No, dang it! I just meant, at my size, I could give you a pounding you wouldn’t walk away from.” O’Hanrahan looked away, wide-eyed and blushing hard.

“Yeah, I’ll just bet you could.” This time Razz definitely sounded amused. Just this side of laughing out loud, in fact.

“Can we please just—“ O’Hanrahan waved an arm in the general direction of ‘away from the place of his humiliation.’ “—go?”

“Sure,” Razz said, with an audible grin. “Let’s _get off_. We can _mount_ this search and really—” He made a little jabbing motion with his arm. “— _thrust_ into the unknown.”

Lord have mercy, Razz was making fun of him.

Razz took a step forward and then looked back at him.

“Well? Are you _coming_ , or not?”

* * *

It didn’t take but a few minutes for Razz to exhaust every remotely dirty sounding word he had in his vocabulary. He delighted in making O’Hanrahan stutter and turn red, and at least it made him forget how worried he was over Hex for a little while. Even if it made him bashful as heck, he couldn’t get too upset about it.

They checked most of the occupied buildings in Westside, asking after his wayward sister, but nobody had anything of much use to say. One fella tried to con ‘em out of a handful of caps for information he didn’t have, but Razz disabused him of that notion right quick with a punch in the face and a boot to the groin.

They made a pass through the farmer’s market, showing off Hex’s picture and getting acquainted with the kind of folks O’Hanrahan knew best. Most of them didn’t remember Razz from the few weeks he’d lived among them, after the Fiends but before the army, and of those who did, none were as sociable as Pretty Sarah and her friends. It was plain to see that distrust of the NCR in general, and the army in particular, ran strong around these parts. But a farmer was a farmer, and O’Hanrahan won them over with his knowledge of fertilizer. Razz thought that was funny, but fertilizer was _important_.

But even with the folks being as helpful as they could, it didn’t seem any of them had seen hide nor hair of his sister.

“Don’t mope around,” Razz said, round about five when O’Hanrahan was starting to do just that. “You want a beer? Or a sarsaparilla? You can always get good information out of a bartender.”

“Might as well, I suppose. That liquor store is the last place we have to look.”

“In Westside,” Razz reminded him. “There’s still Freeside, McCarran, and the Strip. Besides, we don’t even know if she’s made it down here yet. There’s a good chance she’ll roll into town three or four days from now, and all your new friends will remember you and pack the kid off to Camp Golf before she knows what hit her.”

“I suppose you’re right...”

“Of-fucking-course I’m right. Now, sit down or something. Don’t talk to anyone, don’t move, don’t get your fuckin’ head knocked off. I’ll get you some of that sugary shit you like.”

Razz took off, with the photograph in his hand, so O’Hanrahan lounged in the shade and tried to convince himself that he believed his buddy’s reassurance. He needed to look on the bright side, and not think how his sweet baby sister could already be lying dead in the desert, or at the mercy of some...some unprincipled cad.

When Razz came back, he had two bottles but no new information to go with them. It wasn’t easy not to feel discouraged by that.

“We still have time,” Razz said. “We’ll spend tonight on the Strip. Bet you anything she’ll wander over there after dark.”

O’Hanrahan popped open his sarsaparilla and took a sip. “If she’s able.”

“None of that shit.” Razz punched him in the arm, not as hard as he could, and not hard enough to bruise. A friendly, encouraging sort of punch. “You think your sister could go down so easy? Shit, if she’s half the O’Hanrahan you are, she’s off someplace with somebody in a head lock.”

“She might be, at that,” O’Hanrahan said with a slight smile. “She takes after Ma more than me, that’s for dang certain.”

Razz sucked down his bottle of beer. O’Hanrahan took a bit longer with his drink, but their break in the shade was darn short just the same.

“Freeside next?” O’Hanrahan asked, once they’d both done away with their bottles.

Razz nodded and tucked the photograph in his shirt pocket so the girls just peeked over the button. Looking at it, O’Hanrahan couldn’t help but frown with worry, but his buddy wouldn’t have any of that. “We’ll find her.”

* * *

They backtracked to the Westside gate they’d come through. It went faster without stopping to talk to folks.

When they got there, that Sonofagun fella was waiting, tromping around in front of the door with his hammer resting on his shoulder.

“NNG. HI, AGAIN,” he said when Razz stopped at the gate. He had to be just about the most personable super mutant O’Hanrahan had ever known. Although, he hadn’t known many. “YOU GO?”

“Sorry, buddy,” Razz said with a friendly slap on one massive arm. “We’ll grab a beer next time.”

But the big fella wasn’t listening.

“WHO SHE?” the super mutant asked, squinting at the photograph sticking out of Razz’s pocket.

“That’s O’Hanrahan’s sister. The kid we came out here to find,” Razz explained. They both started to move past him, but he jabbed one massive finger in O’Hanrahan’s face. They stopped short.

“SHE GO’ WEH HAIH?” He poked the curl that fell over O’Hanrahan’s forehead. “YEH?”

“Red hair? Yep, she’s got her share of that affliction.” He liked red hair, himself, but there was an old superstition that it came from a curse. They always used to tease each other about that. “Why do you ask?”

“HMMM...” He held his hand up, at a height of not quite six feet. “SHO BIG?”

“Yes! She’s just about that tall.” He restrained himself from grabbing Mean Sonofabitch and shaking an explanation out of him, but it took some effort.

“I SHAW HUH!”

“What? When? Where? Is she all right? Where is she now?” O’Hanrahan demanded, all in one breath. Mean Sonofabitch frowned in concentration.

“UM...I SHAW HUH. BEFOH. HEEYUH. SHE...MEBBE OKEH. SHE...SHOMEWHEH...EHSH.” He looked to Razz for approval. “ISH OKEH?”

“When you’re talking to a super mutant, you have to keep it simple,” Razz said. “Mean Sonofabitch, you’re sure you saw that girl?”

“YEH!” He nodded vigorously.

“And you saw her ‘before.’ Meaning recently? Like earlier today?”

“BEFOH.”

“Yesterday?”

“YEH!”

“Fuck yeah!” Razz cheered.

Mean Sonofabitch echoed, “FUCK YEH!”

O’Hanrahan was tempted to join in. If she’d been there yesterday, that meant she couldn’t have gotten too far away.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” said Razz. “Do you have any idea how much time we could have saved if we’d talked to this guy when we first got here? But no, some people—people who aren’t me this time!—had to start a fight.”

“Razz...” O’Hanrahan started.

“What? I’ve never had the moral high ground before. I kind of like it.” He turned his attention back to Mean Sonofabitch. “When you saw her, was she inside or outside the gate?”

“UM...BOF. SHE COME. HAVE BIG FIE. GO AWAY.”

“What kind of fight?”

“BIG FIE,” the super mutant repeated. He made a punching motion, then mimed an injured person reeling back in pain.

“Somebody _hit_ my sister?” O’Hanrahan felt an unaccustomed fury welling up inside him. Hex was a tough girl, and most likely she gave as good as she got. But didn’t nothing or nobody lay hands on his kin and get away with it.

“So she was here, and she left with someone, right?” asked Razz. He didn’t sound as mad as O’Hanrahan felt, but he’d lost his desire to laugh at the situation. “Do I know him?”

“I FINK...UH-UH.” He shook his head no. “HE FWOM HEEYUH, VEGASH, BUH...” He shrugged. “HE CAW’...HE CAW’—“ Mean Sonofabitch tried to force a name out, but all he managed was some drool and an incomprehensible noise. “I CA’ SHAY I’.”

“That’s okay. Can you tell us where they went?”

“YEH! HE SHAY, ‘BABY, WE GO FWEESHIE.’ SHO SHE GO WIV HIM.”

“To Freeside!” Razz nudged O’Hanrahan with his elbow. “See, I fuckin’ told you. Did the guy say anything else?”

“‘WE HI’ BAH.’”

“The Atomic Wrangler. It’s the only bar in Freeside,” Razz explained. “And they have rooms, too. If we’re lucky, she’s still there! O’Hanrahan, we found her!”

He wanted to smile, to return Razz’s enthusiasm, but it just wouldn’t come. O’Hanrahan felt like a fiddle string that’d been wound too tight and was threatening to bust.

Hex wasn’t alone. Some fella had her, most likely the one who’d lured her here. And she’d got into a tussle with him before he dragged her off to Freeside. To a hotel.

And hotels had beds.

O’Hanrahan moved before he consciously thought about it. He was out the gate without so much as a goodbye, and though Ma would have scolded him for his lack of manners, O’Hanrahan was hard pressed to care. Razz made his excuses and scurried along after him.

“Hold up!” Razz caught up, but didn’t try to stop him. “You don’t even know the way.”

“I’ll find it,” O’Hanrahan said, but he slowed down enough to let Razz take the lead anyhow. He was ready to tear the city down brick by brick to find her whether he knew the right direction or not; best let cooler heads prevail.

To his surprise, Razz led him back through the gate into Westside, down the road a ways, and out through a different exit on the south side of town. He ought to’ve known he was taking the long way around. He was mighty lucky to have his buddy along.

O’Hanrahan saw Razz cast a longing look at a particular sewer grate as they passed it, but he didn’t slow down.

“If you want to go down and get your things—”

“No time,” Razz interrupted.

“Really, I can go on my own. I can meet you in Freeside when you’re done.”

“You’re not cutting me out of the action now! I came to help you save your damn sister, and that’s what I’m going to do. That’s more important than some shitty armor and a couple of knives. And a plasma pistol,” he added under his breath. “She’s probably sold it by now, anyway.”

“All right, then. And thanks.” Whatever happened, he was going to buy Razz a new gun when this was over. Any kind he wanted. That seemed like the right way to thank him.

It took some time to reach Freeside, alternately sprinting and jogging. With every passing minute, O’Hanrahan felt his nerves stretch tighter as he imagined what might be happening to his sister. When he got his hands on the fella who had her—well, he didn’t know just what he’d do, but for the first time in his life, he was itching for a fight. He wondered if this was how Razz felt all the time.

Razz made a sharp left. O’Hanrahan started to follow him, but then he noticed a shack in the other direction. A shack with a big sign up above it, advertising wares for sale.

“That’s the Gun Runners,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Is this where we were _last night_?”

“Oh...I guess we should have gone through Freeside and not around, huh?”

Good Lord. They had spent so much time wandering around and getting into scrapes, and all that could have been avoided? Well, now there was no more time to waste.

As O’Hanrahan burst through the Freeside gate, a tough-looking man in spiky metal armor tried to fall into step beside him.

“Hey there, NCR. If you’re looking to cross Freeside—“

“Fuck off, we don’t need a bodyguard,” said Razz.

The next moment, a fella in a leather jacket stepped in front of them. He puffed his chest out like he though he looked tough, but all O’Hanrahan could think was that he must be baking in the summer heat.

“You soldier boys want to come through Kings territory, you gotta pay the toll.”

O’Hanrahan didn’t even slow down. The other fella went head-over-heels with a look of surprise that was almost funny.

“Sorry!” O’Hanrahan called over his shoulder. “Ain’t got time to stop.”

“Next time, don’t try to shake down a guy who’s twice your size,” Razz added. “Dumbass.”

No one else tried to bother them. Good thing, too; he’d have bowled them over the same way.

Razz pointed him in the right direction, or tried to, at least. Once they turned a corner and he got an eyeful of a big old neon sign with a cowboy riding an atom, it wasn’t necessary. O’Hanrahan tore off toward the building like he was yanked by a string.

O’Hanrahan barreled into the Atomic Wrangler with enough force to knock the door off its hinges. Patrons and workers went scurrying for cover, but he hardly noticed.

“HEX!” he bellowed.

“Looking for a kidnapped girl,” Razz said behind him, dead calm.

A hand appeared from behind the bar, pointing straight up. Just past the bar, O’Hanrahan noticed a flight of stairs.

“Thank you! I’ll fix that door for you when I’m done.” He took the stairs two at a time, with Razz right at his heels.

There were several open doors up there, each looking in on a room with a bed and one or two other bits of furniture. And there was one door that was shut. With the downstairs area unearthly silent except for the automated jangling of the slot machines, it was easy to hear the sounds coming from behind that door...gasping, creaking, and a soft, feminine squeal.

“Oh, fuck. I’ll just wait out here until you need me,” said Razz.

O’Hanrahan was past worrying about anyone’s embarrassment. He lifted a foot and kicked the door, just next to the doorknob. It splintered and crashed inward, and he found himself looming over a tangle of bedsheets, looking down at Hex’s startled face.

“Hoss!” she squeaked.

The fella on top of her started to turn, but—

_The fella on top of her?!_

“ **GET OFF MY SISTER!** ” O’Hanrahan grabbed what turned out to be a bare leg, dragged the man clear of the bed, and _flung_ him as far as he’d go.

“Benny!” Hex wailed. Like she _didn’t_ want the lowlife thrown over her big brother’s shoulder.

“Who in tarnation is Benny?” he demanded.

“Who do you _think_?” She scrambled off the bed, wrapping the sheet around herself as best she could. He could guess that meant she was naked under there, but he chose not to think about that.

“Don’t you sass me, Hex! Who is he, and what has he been doing to you?”

“You know dang well what we was doing together! _I love him_!”

She _loved_ him? That set him back a step, but it didn’t take all the fight out of him. Now that he looked at her, he couldn’t see any bruises, and she was making it darn clear she wasn’t with the fella against her will. That didn’t mean this Benny fella was innocent of all wrong, but it did mean he could be mad at _her_ , too.

“You’re only seventeen years old!” O’Hanrahan yelled at his little sister, even though it made him feel like an old man to say it.

“I’m eighteen!” she yelled back. “I had a birthday, in case you forgot!”  


“ _Yesterday_ _!_ Some difference _that_ makes!”

“I’m grown either way, you—“

There was a thump from outside the room, then a heavy thud and a yell that broke off almost before it got started. O’Hanrahan realized the two of them were alone in the room.

“Just let him go,” his sister said as he went for the door.

“It ain’t about you, Hex.” Now that he saw she wasn’t hurt, O’Hanrahan didn’t much care if the fella decided to run off. He just didn’t want him knocking Razz down on the way out.

But when he got there, that Benny was the one facedown on the carpet with Razz’s knee jammed up into his spine. He’d only managed to get one leg into his pants, and—oh, lordy, the other leg had a knife stuck in it.

Benny looked like he knew how to handle himself, but when Razz grabbed him by that fancy hairdo and slammed his head against the floor, that knocked most of the fight right out of him.

“Fucker,” Razz said, sounding as happy as O’Hanrahan had ever heard him. He looked up at the two of them in the doorway. “Hey. You want him dead?”

“No!”

“Aw. You sure? I could just...” He made a motion with his hand that O’Hanrahan didn’t quite understand.

“Who are you?” Hex demanded, standing on her tiptoes to try to see over her big brother’s shoulder. She gasped. “You stabbed him!”

“He ran,” said Razz.

“Hex, this is Razz. He’s a friend of mine,” O’Hanrahan said, trying to stay calm. “Razz, this is my sister. She’s a pain in the butt.”

“No argument there,” said Razz.

“Uh-huh,” Benny agreed. That was about all he _could_ say, with his face pressed into the carpet like that.

“You shut your face hole,” Razz warned. He yanked Benny’s head up by the hair, bending his neck back so far it must hurt like the dickens. Benny, wisely, didn’t do more than grunt.

“Stop it!” Hex squeezed under his arm to try to pry Razz away from Benny. “He didn’t do nothing wrong! He _saved_ me from the scoundrel who brung me to Vegas.”

“You mean he ain’t the scoundrel?” O’Hanrahan demanded.

“No! Golly, Hoss, does he _look_ like a scoundrel?”

O’Hanrahan looked down at the bare behonkus of the fella he’d caught canoodling with his baby sister. Did she really need him to answer that?

“Who was it, then?” he asked.

“Just some louse called Saint James. Don’t worry, that’s all over now.”

“Saint James?” Razz snarled. He slammed Benny’s face into the carpet again. “Did you fucking kill him?”

“Ow! Christ, kid. Which answer’s gonna get you to quit doin’ that?”

“Don’t bust his head,” O’Hanrahan warned. Benny was already slurring like a drunk. O’Hanrahan might not be kindly disposed toward the man, but he still didn’t want to see his skull cracked open and his brains spilling out across the floor.

“Of course he didn’t kill him! Benny’s a gentleman,” Hex insisted.

Didn’t none of the menfolk believe _that_ , not even Benny. Like as not, Hex didn’t believe it either, but the gal had her pride to keep up.

“Should’ve killed him, _gentleman_ ,” Razz muttered. But he let go of Benny’s hair and glared at Hex instead. “You don’t even fuckin’ know what you escaped from, do you?”

“You mean what _he_ helped me escape from? And stop that cussin’! Dang ruffian.”

She sounded just like Ma when she said that. And it was enough to cow Razz, at least somewhat. He got up off of Benny without a word and came to stand by O’Hanrahan. Hex set about fussing over her man friend.

“You best get to explaining, Hex, or else.“

“Or else what? You’ll stab him again?” She shot a hot glare his direction. “The details ain’t none of your business, Hoss! I come down here to see what I thought was a friend, but he wasn’t. We got into a fight, and Benny stepped in. That’s all there is to it!”

O’Hanrahan didn’t like the tender way she looked at that Benny fella. Not one bit.

“Fucking Saint James,” Razz spat, just under his breath.

“Who is this Saint James?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“Slaver. Supplies the Fiends. Not someone you’d want your sister to know. This other asshole sleeping with her is still pretty shitty, but like... _normal_ shitty. Between Saint James and Motor-Runner, she’d have been better off with the Legion.”

He sounded shaken. If it was enough to upset Razz, O’Hanrahan didn’t suppose he’d be doing himself any favors to ask for the specifics. It was enough to know that Hex was safe.

“Reckon I ought to thank him,” he said reluctantly. It was hard to feel too grateful when Benny’d gone and put the moves on a vulnerable young girl, but forgiving him for that must be the Christian thing to do, especially when he’d saved her from worse.

“Don’t get too carried away,” Razz said, to O’Hanrahan’s relief. “If you want to make it up to him for that dent I put in his head, we can haul him over to the Old Mormon Fort. He’ll need a doctor after I take my knife back. Hope you don’t mind limping,” he said to Benny, who only sighed. He was in no position to complain.

“I’ll give you a hand, friend.” One-handed, O’Hanrahan hauled Benny to his feet. Well, foot. For the foreseeable future, he wouldn’t be going nowhere he couldn’t hop to. On his way up, Benny yanked his pants along with him. He couldn’t wear them properly, of course, not with a knife sticking out of him, but at least his jiggly bits were covered enough.

While he had the louse in hand, O’Hanrahan did have one last thing to ask him.

“Did you make my sister any promises?” He tightened his grip on Benny’s arm to make sure he had his full attention. “If you did, I’ll hold you to ‘em.”

“Hoss, you’re _embarassing_ me!” Hex groaned.

“I think it’s a reasonable question.” He looked at Benny. “Well?”

“I, uh… Listen, Bigfoot, I’d be honored to marry the br—uh, your beautiful sister—if that’s what you’re gettin’ at. But I think we can all agree I’m just not good enough for the likes of her. Ain’t that right, Apple Cheeks?”

Hex giggled. “Oh, _you_.”

“And you, Hex?” O’Hanrahan said, frowning. “You actually love him? Or was that a bunch of bunk?”

The giggle died and Hex sighed. Her eyes slid away from them. “No, Hoss. I just didn’t want you to kill him.”

Well, that settled it. He wouldn’t force Benny into a shotgun wedding if Hex didn’t want it. And he didn’t want Benny for a brother-in-law anyhow.

“Aw, Apple Cheeks.” Benny gave her a wounded look. It really capitalized on the physical pain already obvious on his face. “I thought we had something together.”

“Don’t push your luck, you shitbird. I can still twist the knife.” Razz advanced on him threateningly. Benny shrank back, but not so much that he couldn’t deny it.

“Let’s don’t and say we did, hey?”

“You stay away from him, you—you _centipede_.” Hex threw herself between Benny and Razz. And while she didn’t have as much practice at cussing as Razz did, she knew how to say a big word in such a way that a fella could guess she was being insulting.

“Don’t worry, Hex,” said O’Hanrahan. “Razz ain’t gonna twist the knife. Not no more than he already has,” he added, with a glance down at the damage. The back of Benny’s leg was slick with blood, but from what he could see, the hole was too ragged for a simple puncture wound. Razz must have got pretty carried away trying to stop him. Them Followers would have some work to do.

“Remind me why I won’t,” Razz muttered.

“Listen to your pal, prickles,” Benny said. “I make a lousy pincushion.”

Razz took another step toward him, and Benny made a noise that wasn’t quite a yelp but sure as heck wanted to be one.

“All right, bad joke. Don’t work yourself into a lather. I’ll sweeten the pot. You stop tryin’ to bump me off with your brainwaves, and I’ll fix you up with a night on the strip.” Benny started fishing around in his pants pocket for something. “The Tops, presidential suite. We are talking the caviar of digs, baby.”

“The fuck is caviar?” Razz asked. Benny dropped a key into his hand.

“A feather bed, air conditioning and hot running water, baby. And enough room for three.”

“I reckon we do need a place to stay tonight,” O’Hanrahan admitted, and a place big enough for all of them would be best. After these shenanigans, he wanted Hex in shouting distance. Razz considered the key.

“Swell.” Benny swayed a little and leaned against the nearest wall. The blood loss, though slow, was definitely taking its toll. “Not to be a wet blanket, baby, but if you don’t want a corpse on your conscience, might I suggest we ankle?”

* * *

Inside the gates of the Old Mormon Fort were a lone guard and a mousy-looking lady scientist, deep in conversation and each sipping on a cup of coffee. The scientist lady took one look at them, stood up, and flung her coffee in Benny’s face. O’Hanrahan got a share of it, too, being the fella’s human crutch and all, but it was only lukewarm, so he didn’t take offense.

“Em—baby,” Benny sputtered. “Did I deserve that?”

“You’re lucky I didn’t throw the cup!” She waved someone else over, and left. Obviously, she didn’t want to have anything more to do with him.

O’Hanrahan let the other Followers take Benny off his hands. He was glad that hadn’t turned into another fight. But he was also glad Hex had witnessed it. She might keep making eyes at the fella out of sheer cussedness, but she had too much sense to develop any real deep feelings for a man she knew was a romeo.

After a few minutes, and a few undignified squawks from inside the tent, a lady in a lab coat exited with Razz’s knife wrapped up in a towel. When she caught sight of their group, she stopped.

“Razz?” This lady Follower wasn’t throwing any drinks in anyone’s faces. She had a friendly smile and a gentle voice, and she came up to take Razz’s hand in hers like they were old friends. “Is that you under all that wrapping?”

“Yeah. Hi, Julie.” He didn’t sound any friendlier with her than he was with anybody else, but he didn’t make her let go of his hands, or say anything to hurt her feelings. That was something.

“You’re looking well,” she said, ignoring his lack of enthusiasm. “And the uniform? You joined the army? Razz! I’m so proud of you.”

“They have the best guns.” He freed his hand and stepped back, embarrassed. Miss Julie didn’t seem to mind.

“So,” she said, with a meaningful glance at the weapon in her hand, “You brought me an interesting knife wound.”

“Not that interesting.” He shrugged.

“You twisted the knife so he couldn’t pull it out?”

“That’s what you _do_ to a runner.”

“And you had to stick him because...” she prompted.

“He took advantage of my friend’s kid sister.”

“Hey! That’s my personal business!” Hex protested. O’Hanrahan shushed her. As far as he was concerned, it stopped being a private matter when he had to come rescue her from it.

“That explains the lack of pants,” Julie said, trying not to laugh. She handed the knife over. “I have to get back to work, but it was great seeing you again. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Yeah, bye,” Razz muttered. He turned to O’Hanrahan, and froze. “What the fuck are you smiling at?”

“You said I was your friend.”

“Y-yeah? So? It’s not that big a deal! Jesus!” He looked like he was hoping to disappear into a hole in the ground, so O’Hanrahan decided to change the subject.

“That Miss Julie sure seems nice.”

“Yeah, she’s cool. She helped me kick the psycho.”

Kick the psycho?

“You beat someone up together?” he asked. “Was she in the Fiends, too?” That didn’t seem right, but she did have the hair…

“What? No! I—you know what, I’ll explain it to you later. Can we _go_ now?”

“Sure can.” He clamped a hand on his sister’s shoulder in case she had any idea of going to say goodbye to Benny, but she went along with them. Sulkily, but she went.

So it looked like they were going to spend the night on the Strip after all.

* * *

The Tops was a noisy place, and crowded with people Hex couldn’t stop staring at, in their fancy suits and dresses. This was the kind of life she’d always longed for. And Benny hadn’t been lying about the air conditioning. If there really was hot water and a feather bed, too, they’d have a time getting her to leave.

The man at the door took their service rifles and sidearms, Hex’s .22, and all but two of Razz’s knives, with the promise that they could have them back when they left. Razz really should have turned over _all_ his weapons, but the doorman didn’t notice the ones in his boots. And if Razz could sneak something through security, then so could the other guests, so it was probably better if they weren’t the only ones unarmed, just in case of an emergency. O’Hanrahan decided not to say anything about it.

Hex would have liked to stay and explore the casino, but the fellas herded her into the elevator before she could slip away.

O’Hanrahan had never ridden in an elevator before, and he couldn’t help being nervous. Was it really strong enough to hold their combined weight? He found himself clinging to the grab bar on the side, just in case the bottom dropped out from under him, but after a terrifying series of rattles and jolts, the doors opened with a friendly _ding_ and the three of them spilled out into the suite.

Good golly, it was bigger than their house.

Hex squealed and headed straight for the bar. Which, O’Hanrahan admitted to himself with a little frown, was at least better than some of the activities she’d got up to lately.

For his part, Razz stayed rooted to the spot and stared wide eyed at every corner of the room. Once he got through gawping, he headed off to investigate the particulars of the place. Only when O’Hanrahan was sure Hex was too occupied to run off did he finally follow.

It took some doing to figure where Razz got himself to, but he finally found him in a bedroom after some trial and error. Gee, a fella really could get lost in a place like this.

“Check it out, O’Hanrahan.” Razz took a seat on the bed, and sank into it, to his surprise. “Whoa! Why’s it so soft?”

“Heck, Razz, not every bed’s as hard as an army cot,” O’Hanrahan said. And then he felt bad for saying it. A good, solid army cot must be the height of luxury after years of sleeping rough with the Fiends. Why, he’d been near ‘bout spoiled in the home his folks had made. No wonder Razz gave him such funny looks sometimes. “You go ahead and get yourself settled in. I’ll see to it my fool sister gets situated out there.”

“You’re not putting her in the bed?”

“If she wanted to sleep in a bed, she had a perfectly good one back in Oregon.” If Hex wanted to be a soldier, he wasn’t about to keep treating her like a lady.

And while they had a free night in a fancy hotel, it only seemed right for Razz to be the one to get pampered, ‘specially after all the help he’d been.

O’Hanrahan found his little baby sister cozied up to the bar, trying to twist the cap off a bottle of whiskey. He plucked it right out of her hand.

“Aw, what are you being so mean for?” she pouted, giving him that look that had never failed to win him over before. “I thought _you’d_ understand, out of everybody.”

“Heck no, I don’t understand! I’m darn—no, excuse me, I am _damn_ mad at you for what you done! You run out on Bell and left her in a real tight spot, or did you even think about that? She’s the one who had to go to the folks and tell ‘em she _lost_ you, and she couldn’t even say if you’d joined a gang or got murdered, or _what_.”

“Aw, they know I ain’t lying dead in a ditch.” She didn’t sound the least bit repentant. “I can take care of myself.”

“The heck you can! You’re a flighty, irresponsible _child_ , and _you don’t think_!”

He could see that hurt her feelings. All their lives, the girls had been told that Hex had got the beauty and Bell had got the brains. Not by Ma and Pa, but by just about everybody else that ever laid eyes on ‘em. _Oh, that Hex sure is the prettiest little thing,_ the neighbors would say at every barn dance and cake walk, _Shame she ain’t clever like Bell._ And in the next breath, it’d be a shame Bell would never catch herself a husband like pretty little Hex. The comparisons had been a trial to both of ‘em and no amount of Ma and Pa saying it wasn’t true made a lick of difference. He had always been careful not to insult Hex’s intelligence, even in a roundabout way, any more than he would put down Bell’s looks.

But the truth was, Hex _didn’t_ think, and it hadn’t a thing to do with being bright. If she saw something she wanted, she went out and got it, with no consideration for who she had to knock down to get there. Oh, she’d be real sorry, after, but sorry didn’t solve the problems she caused.

Maybe Mags was right. Maybe the army would do her some good.  


“If you’re gonna be like that, I’m going to bed.” She hopped down off her barstool and stomped toward the bedroom. She had a real pout now, not a cute one, and if he weren’t so angry, he might have weakened in the face of her hurt.

Instead, he told her, “You’re bedding down on the sofa.”

She spun around to snarl at him, “Oh, so that’s how it is? You can sleep around with some raider trash, but if _I_ want to have a little fun—“

“Helen!” His voice cracked out as hard as a slap. “Razz is a soldier, same as me—and the same as you say _you_ want to be. And on top of that, he’s the best friend I ever had, and I won’t have you disrespecting him, do you hear?”

“Gee!” she breathed. “Sorry, Hoss.”

He took hold of his temper and did his best to speak to her calmly, instead of shouting and carrying on like maybe she deserved.

“Just so you know, I was planning on sleeping across the doorway, just in case my little sister got it in her head to run off again.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” she said, with a look that made it darn clear she’d been thinking about it. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

“I ain’t sleeping with him, Hex.”

“Oh.” She gave him a close, thoughtful look. “But you’d like to, wouldn’t you?”

“You sure are a nosy little business.” And she always could see just what he was feeling without his having to say it.

“That’s a yes!” She sat down again, all smiles. “Gee, I’m sorry for callin’ him trash. If you like him, he _must_ be nice. Is he as nice as any of the boys back home?” She gasped with delight. “Have you kissed him yet?”

“ _No,_ I ain’t kissed him yet, for heaven’s sake.” And then he felt himself start to blush. _Not yet_ was as good as saying, _Soon, I hope_.

“Well, why ever not? Get to it, big brother.” She gave him a playful push toward the bedroom, but he kept his seat.

“Now, you stop that! I can’t go around kissin’ every fella who—Why, I don’t even know if he’s interested!”

“Good golly, but you do make things difficult,” said Hex. “ _Ask_ him, you fool. Go on. I won’t make a run for it, cross my heart.”

“You best not! I’d have to go chasin’ after you again, and I’ll be in a real fix if I ain’t back on base in time for evening formation.” He’d already be cutting it pretty close, staying in the city overnight.

Hex gave him the dimples, and the eyelashes, and all them other little tricks she had that let her get away with more than was good for her character.

“Gee, I’m sorry for worryin’ everyone,” she said sweetly.

And he had to smile at her, even knowing that was exactly how she’d got to be such a brat.

“Go to sleep, little sister. And don’t you rest too easy! I ain’t forgave you yet!”

But he could tell by her smile she didn’t believe him.

Well, as long as she stayed put, he supposed it was a ll right. He’d just go and have a word with Razz, decide what their plans were for the morning, and take an extra pillow for himself while he was in there.

But he found Razz perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for him. With his face wrap pulled up so nothing showed but the eyes.

“The best friend you ever had?” Razz asked.

“Well, you _are_.” Then his brain caught up, and his heart started hammering. “Oh. You, uh...you heard all of that, did you?”

“I think they heard most of it in Oregon.”

Oh, golly. They had been yelling and screaming at each other, hadn’t they? And now Razz was self-conscious, and he was, and things were going to be real awkward between them for a time.

“I’m sorry, Razz,” he said. Razz just looked at him, not answering. “You don’t have to pay my sister no mind. She always was a meddlesome little skeezicks. I won’t ask—that is to say, I wouldn’t want to put you in a difficult position.”

Razz made a strange choking sound. It took him a second to realize it was a laugh. It took him a second more than that to realize what was funny.

“I just meant I don’t want to make it hard for you,” O’Hanrahan amended. Razz laughed again.

“Too late.” Then he looked away, tugging at his face wrap. “I mean—um—shit.”

“I’m trying to be serious, now,” O’Hanrahan said, trying not to laugh himself. “I _mean_ to say that you don’t have to do nothin’ you’d rather not. I know what the army has to say about fraternization, and I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble—“

“I’m always in trouble,” Razz interrupted. “I _like_ trouble.”

“You do?” O’Hanrahan asked doubtfully.

“I’m used to it, anyway.”

“You don’t have to resign yourself to life being a vale of tears. You’re allowed to have nice things, too.”

“I do have nice things,” Razz mumbled. What little of his face was visible was turning redder by the second. “You’re nice.”

O’Hanrahan blinked a few times and looked away. Razz _did_ have him, that much was true. Only, he didn’t know Razz knew it. Or cared for it. Or…

“You’re not shutting down on me now, are you? I know I’m not hot shit or a fucking poet or anything, but I didn’t think it’d break your brain.”

“I...gee whiz, Razz. You always pull away when I get too close,” O’Hanrahan said carefully, trying not to get too carried away at the suggestion that Razz was interested after all.

“I never thought you meant anything by it! I thought you were just being friendly—I thought you were too fucking innocent to know what you were doing.”

“Land o’ Goshen, Razz, you ain’t the only fella I ever cast eyes at. I’ve been out walking a time or two—and in case you don’t know, ‘going out walking’ is just what you call it in front of the preacher.”

“I don’t see any preachers around here.”

“All right, then, I’ve been with a man. I’ve made love. I’ve...” he took a deep breath and forced himself to say, “fucked.”

Razz stopped snickering. His eyes got real big.

“I’d like to do it again,” O’Hanrahan added, “if you ain’t opposed to the idea.”

“Only if I get to hear more backwoods dirty talk. ‘Oh, Razz, please touch my sit-upon with your dingle-dangle!”

“That ain’t what it’s called, Razz,” O’Hanrahan said, more to fight the creeping blush than anything else. “On a farm—”

“Oh my fuckin’ god.” Razz yanked down his face wrap, snatched O’Hanrahan by the collar and hauled him close enough to kiss him soundly. Every thought he’d ever had dropped out of his head until they broke for air, and the ones that floated back were right addled. “Now shut the fuck up so I can touch your fuckin’ dingle-dangle.”

Razz gave him another tug and they tumbled together to the mattress.

“All right, Razz.”


	8. ...H, you're so heavenly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say! Who's got two thumbs and her ADD meds again? This gal. Pretty great! Finally, writing is not like trying to think through a brick. *confetti, party horns* As always, thank you for your patience and continued patronage. <3
> 
> -Moon

Razz turned out to be a restless sleeper. O’Hanrahan usually slept like a rock, but not when he had somebody kicking him every five minutes and muttering in his sleep about traps needing to be set.

“Hey,” he said finally, when he was sure his leg was black and blue from all the kicking. “You awake, buddy?”

“Yeah, fuck you,” Razz mumbled, and started to snore.

O’Hanrahan let out a sigh and pulled the blanket up higher over both of them, tucking a corner under himself so Razz couldn’t yank it off again. Maybe he’d just have to resign himself to being kicked.

Maybe it was worth it.

* * *

Come morning—well, it was hard to tell if it was really morning or not without a window in the bedroom, but after some amount of time spent sleeping—O’Hanrahan heard voices from the other room. Hex’s, and someone else’s.

Razz heard it, too. They both rolled out of bed and started scrambling back into their clothes— “Where are my pants?” Razz muttered. “Shit!”

If they’d been able to get up on their own terms, O’Hanrahan would have taken the time to feel happy—darn happy—about waking up together. But this might be an emergency, so he just got his own pants on and burst through the door into the main room, to come to his sister’s defense or to stop her from doing what she oughtn’t, whichever was needful.

He found Hex in front of the elevator doors with a man and a woman, telling them off, but keeping her voice down out of consideration for him and Razz. The man was a stranger to O’Hanrahan, although his suit and his slicked-back hair marked him out as one of the fellas who ran this here casino. But the woman was that very same courier who’d helped him and the others learn to work as a real team. She was dolled up for the Strip now, in a dress instead of armor, and with a fancy bonnet pulled low on one side to hide that awful scar on her head, but he knew her just the same.

“Mornin’, ma’am,” he said.

“O’Ha-oh.” Her eyes went round as dinner plates as she took in his bare chest. Then she blinked and looked up at his face instead. “O’Hanrahan?”

“Yes, ma’am. And I see you’ve already met my sister.” He waited politely for her to explain what she and her gentleman friend were doing in what was supposed to be a private suite. He was sure she had a good reason to be there.

But before she could speak, Razz stumbled out of the bedroom in his undershirt, with the blanket clumsily wrapped around his lower half so that his left arm was trapped inside it.

“I couldn’t find my—” he said, and stopped dead.

“Razz.” The courier bit her lip and fought down a smile. “I guess I don’t have to ask how squad cooperation is coming along.”

“Oh—fuck.” Razz cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?”

“She says we ain’t allowed to be here,” said Hex. “And I was about to tell her, we got the key fair and square.”

“From where?” the gentleman asked, narrowing his eyes.

“The fella he stabbed,” Hex said, pointing at Razz. His eyes flew wide as he realized he might be in trouble.

Instead of giving him what for, the courier and her friend traded a meaningful look.

“Was this cat about—“ The gentleman put his hand an inch or two lower than the top of his head. “—so high?”

Hex nodded.

“Dark hair? Dark eyes?” the courier asked. “Opportunistic little shit?”

Hex giggled, blushed, and glanced away. “Yes, ma’am.”

“He’s still in town? I’ll fucking _kill_ him. Goddammit, Benny,” the courier sighed. “Swank, will you do me a favor and comp them the room? They’re good kids. Didn’t mean to get mixed up in your pal’s bullshit, I’m sure.”

“Anything you say, baby.” He didn’t look so happy, though. O’Hanrahan figured it would be a good idea for the three of them to mosey on as soon as possible.

“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to take care of.”

“He’s at the Mormon fort,” Razz said helpfully, which brought a sparkle to the lady’s eye.

“You hurt him? Bad?”

“I’ve done worse.”

“Did he deserve it?”

“ _No_ ,” said Hex.

“Maybe not all of it,” Razz admitted. “He just didn’t know when to shut up.”

“That’s Benny, all right. Thanks for slowing him down for me.” She linked her arm through Swank’s and drew him toward the elevator. “Good luck to you, boys.”

“You, too, ma’am!” O’Hanrahan called after her.

The three of them watched until the elevator door closed. Then Razz shrugged the blanket into a less awkward position around his waist, freeing his trapped hand—which, O’Hanrahan finally realized, had been holding a hidden pistol trained on the intruders.

“Holy smokes, Razz! How’d you get that past security?”

“I didn’t. I lifted it off one of their guys last night. Didn’t want to walk around this place unarmed.”

“Didn’t you already sneak some knives in?”

“Knives don’t count! They’re like...socks. You’re naked without a pair on you.”

O’Hanrahan could have mentioned that Razz never used to wear socks until he got that pair from Ma. But his mind was stuck on ‘naked.’

“You ain’t exactly the trusting type, are you?” Hex asked, in a way that was supposed to be snide. But Razz ignored her tone and nodded his agreement with her words.

“That’s why I’m still alive. I don’t have a brother to come pull my ass out of the fire if I do something stupid.”

“Not you, too,” Hex groaned. “Why does everybody think they have to give me a talking-to? You don’t even know me.”

“Damn right, and I don’t give a fuck what happens to you, either. But you scared the hell out of O’Hanrahan, and I do kinda like _him_.”  


“Gosh, Razz. You ain’t so bad yourself,” O’Hanrahan said. He was happy to see that Razz couldn’t help flashing a grin.

Hex didn’t much care about their mutual admiration. Her face crumpled up like an old rag, around eyes that had turned shiny. O’Hanrahan reckoned Razz’s insult was the first one she’d ever got that wasn’t playful, or that she couldn’t cutesy her way out of.

“You don’t like me?” she asked in a small voice. O’Hanrahan’s instinct was to go and put his arms around her and tell her everything was going to be okay, but he told himself to stay out of it. He didn’t think Razz was going to tell her anything she didn’t need to hear.

“Fuck no, I don’t! I’ve known you for twelve hours and it’s clear you’re a pain in the ass.”

Her bottom lip wobbled and her eyebrows tried to meet in the middle of her forehead. In spite of a pretty girl looking so vulnerable she might cry, Razz remained unruffled. At least so far as she was concerned. He looked more worried about what O’Hanrahan would think of the whole exchange than whether or not she’d start sobbing on him.

Razz’s eyes darted between them, but before he could say anything else, Hex’s pathetic mask dropped and she _grinned_ at him.

“Golly, Hoss, you sure picked a smart one this time! Much better than that Linwood Haney,” she said, her expression all teeth and glittering eyes. To Razz, she said, “He was such a sucker, if you told him gravity stopped workin’, he’d fall up.”

Razz preened a little. “And I’m better?”

“In every way, best as I can figure it,” O’Hanrahan admitted.

“ _Every_ way?”

O’Hanrahan didn’t say anything, just shuffled his feet and stole a look at Razz. He hoped he didn’t look too sentimental, but the way Hex rolled her eyes told him he failed.

“If you’re going to get romantical, I’m going to leave,” she said.

“You like romance,” O’Hanrahan pointed out.

“Not when it’s my own brother, and I have to _watch.”_

That wasn’t what she’d said yesterday, but it was one thing to tease him for being too skittish to kiss a fella he liked. But feelings? Tender, genuine, _feelings_? She plumb didn’t want to know.

If he was a more mischievous sort, he could have taken the opportunity to make her squirm, really play up the lovey-dovey stuff, but it wouldn’t be fair to use Razz that way. Instead, he said, “Get your shoes on, little sister. It’s time we skedaddled.”

“Already? Ain’t you going to buy your boyfriend breakfast first?” That devilish look was back. He should have known she would bust his chops if he didn’t start in on her first.

And he didn’t know how to answer. He and Razz hadn’t exactly discussed where this thing was going. They’d been too busy to think of it.

Razz nudged him with an elbow before he could worry too much.

“Breakfast? Boyfriends get breakfast? Hell yeah, I’m your boyfriend. I’m _starved_. Buy me food.”

O’Hanrahan felt himself blush right down to his toes, even though he figured Razz meant it as a joke. “Reckon we ought to put some clothes on first?”

“Oh, yeah.” Razz set his borrowed gun on the nearest table and went back into the bedroom. O’Hanrahan followed, kicking the door shut behind him.

He didn’t do it because he wanted privacy; it wasn’t something he’d thought about at all. But the way Razz looked at him, he was glad he’d done it.

“There’s your pants,” he said, pointing. They were in the middle of the floor, in plain sight.

“Yeah, I know.” Razz hesitated. “Don’t get all weird about this, but...we are still...friends, and all...right?”

“Of course we are,” O’Hanrahan said. “Unless you don’t want to be. Oh, golly, do you not want to be? Did I mess things up? I’m sorry! I ain’t sorry we done what we did, but I never would have asked you to if I thought it meant we couldn’t be friends no more—”

“I said don’t get weird!” Razz snapped. “I never said I didn’t want to be your friend. Of course I do. I...like you, dumbass.” He looked and sounded like he wanted to hit something, but what he was saying was nice enough that O’Hanrahan stopped panicking.

“I like you, too, Razz,” he said. “An awful lot. Even when you call me names.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Razz winced. “I shouldn’t have said that, right?”

“Well...” He knew all the meanness was just Razz’s way, and it didn’t hurt his feelings no more. It still wasn’t exactly good behavior.

“You’re not a dumbass,” Razz said earnestly, staring hard as he could at O’Hanrahan’s feet. “I just...don’t know how this works. I never slept with anybody I was friend with first. Are we...are we ‘sparking’ now?”

“If you want to!” He sounded awful eager, but he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t think of anything that would make him happier than for Razz to be his fella.

“It’s a terrible idea,” Razz warned. “I’ll fuck it up somehow.”

“That’s as may be, but—“

“It’s not a maybe!”

“I don’t care.” He reached out and pulled Razz close, and was delighted when Razz let him. “I’d rather try than not.”

“Hey, no fair putting the moves on me when I’m trying to warn you off.”

“I told you, I don’t want to be warned off.” O’Hanrahan ducked his head. “’Sides, I thought you liked trouble?”

“Yeah. You know what else I like?”

There was a sudden rumbling noise, and Razz stepped back, arms crossed over his stomach.

“Breakfast?” O’Hanrahan guessed.

“Yeah...fucking breakfast.” Razz’s face was red, but it was nothing to be embarrassed about. It had been hours since their last meal, and O’Hanrahan was feeling mighty peckish himself.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Boyfriends get breakfast.”

* * *

Dear Ma + Pa,

How are you? I am fine, so is Hoss, who I am with in New Vegas, at the Tops Casino. Here is a postcard. Ain’t it fine?

Love, Hex

PS: Sorry it says Las Vegas instead of New. Also for runnin off.

* * *

Dear Bell,

Here is a postcard! It’s got a pitcher of the damn. I thought you would like it because the ~~beeve~~ ~~beevur~~ critter has teeth just like you. Ain’t he cute? Just like you? My favrit big sister?

Wish you was here, Hex

PS: I ain’t sucking up. Much. Thanks for not tattlin.

* * *

They could have gotten breakfast at one of the casinos, but O’Hanrahan couldn’t justify spending that kind of money. He might have done it anyway, for Razz’s sake, but it turned out Razz was on his side. The two of them ended up steering Hex away from the Ultra-Luxe and dragging her to a street corner food stall instead.

So, she had to write her postcards standing up with iguana-on-a-stick in one hand and the pencil in the other. O’Hanrahan generously let her use his back as a writing surface, even though she was none too careful with the point of the pencil.

“Don’t you think you ought to write a proper letter, girl?”

“Postcard’s shorter,” Hex said with a sniff. “’Sides, they’re _Vegas_ postcards. Collectibles! It’s the least I can do.”

Razz snorted. “The very least.”

O’Hanrahan could almost hear Hex grin. “Apologizing goes down easier when it’s short.”

He shook his head. Boy, if that wasn’t Hex all over. Apologies came easier to her than asking permission, and had since they were kids. O’Hanrahan was the exact opposite—and Bell, well, she found doing neither the easiest of all.

“There,” she said at last, with what he had to assume was an unnecessarily pokey flourish. “I’ll go drop these in the mail. You two can stay here, I’ll just be a minute!”

“Oh no, you don’t!” The only place to send mail from the strip was the NCR Embassy, and Ma O’Hanrahan didn’t raise no fool. Well, maybe a bit of one, especially where feelings were concerned, but Hex would have to get up pretty early in the morning to pull something so obvious on him. Before she could make her escape, he turned to stop her.

But he found Razz had already snatched her by the collar and kept her rooted in place.

Hex looked at Razz, weighing whether or not she could fight her way free. O’Hanrahan wasn’t sure which of them he would bet on if it came to a scrap, but if nothing else Hex could make Razz regret trying to hold her. But she decided against it, which was probably wise of her, and gave him doe eyes instead.

“I would have thought you’d be on my side.”

“The hell I would! If you were _my_ sister, I’d have kicked your ass by now.”

“Good thing I ain’t your sister, then!”

With a grunt of acknowledgment, Razz let her go. Hex straightened her clothing with all the dignity she could muster.

“You trying to get down to the recruitment office?” O’Hanrahan asked. “Be honest with me, now. The Lord hates a lying tongue.”

“I wasn’t going to lie.” She fidgeted as she said it. She knew in her heart that the way she’d been behaving was just as bad as speaking a lie, and she was basically honest. She just needed to be reminded sometimes when she let herself get carried away.

“You’re still set on joining up?” he prompted.

“Yes,” Hex said simply. She didn’t even use any of her little tricks to win him over, just looked him steady in the eye.

This was no flighty impulse of hers, like when she’d wanted to open a dress shop without learning to sew first, or the time she’d converted to Atomism just to show Pa she could. She was really serious this time.

“This ain’t some big adventure, Hex. You don’t get to wave your rifle at the enemy and then go home and congratulate yourself on how brave you are. You have to kill them if you meet them. I never wanted you to know what it was to take a life. And even the bravest and the strongest on our side get killed out there, too. Heck, sis, I joined up so you could stay safe.”

“Well, I wish you hadn’t! You’re the one who loves farming so much. You should have stayed. Do you think I want to be left behind while you and Bell go out into the world? You think I like being the one to hear Pa muttering to himself when he thinks I ain’t around, or watch Ma fret herself to a frazzle every time your letters are two days late? And then there’s Bell, moping around because she thinks you’ll come back so changed she won’t know you. I tell you, I can’t sit there and watch it no more!” 

“So you decided to double their worries.” That was just like her. Anything she didn’t want to see, she’d turn away from and imagine it didn’t exist, even if turning her face away only made the problem worse.

And did she think anybody had asked him if he wanted to be a soldier? Heck, no! But they’d needed money, and the farm wouldn’t pay for years yet, if ever. And wouldn’t nobody ask little Hex to pitch in, oh, no.

For the first time in his life, he realized how much that bothered him. He’d always had to work and sacrifice to provide for the girls, whether he’d wanted to or not. He _did_ want to, but it still would have been nice to feel like he could say no once in a while. And what’s more, it wasn’t fair that Bell had learned not to ask for things she couldn’t have, when they all turned around and put anything Hex wanted right into her hand just because she was the baby.

Well, she wasn’t a baby no more. He wouldn’t stop trying to protect her—he loved her too much for that even when she made him mad—but he couldn’t make her choices for her.

“You know once you sign your papers, there’s no backing out,” he said, in one last attempt to talk her out of it.

“Of course I know that. Does that mean you’ll let me do it?”

“Who’s letting? You’re eighteen years and one day old. The law says you don’t need nobody’s permission but your own.”

“Oh, Hoss!” She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a big, smacky kiss on the cheek. “That’s eighteen and two days.”

“Hold on now, little sister. I got one more thing to say to you.” He held her away from him, and tried to think of all the good the military could do instead of picturing his baby sister shot full of holes or hanging from a cross. “The army’s real short of men these days. Half the new recruits get hustled into uniforms and marched out to the front lines to soak up all the bullets. I ain’t about to let you throw your life away, so if you can’t show them you have skills worth training, I’ll sling you over my shoulder and carry you back to Oregon myself, contract or no contract.”

* * *

_The Legion awaits at the gates of Hell... and the NCR is gonna send 'em IN!_

Razz nodded at the poster and the horrible metal face they’d been sitting across from for a long dang time. “Where d’you even think they got a picture of old what’s-his-bucket?”

“Maybe that ain’t even what Legate Lanius looks like,” O’Hanrahan said, while he tried not to fidget. Army men didn’t fidget, even when their little sisters were off talking to recruitment officers without them, and they’d run out of old magazines to read, and were left _literally_ staring at the walls.

“What, you think he just looks like some guy?” Razz made a rude noise. “Know what? I bet he fucking does. I bet the brass—“

O’Hanrahan shushed him, glancing around at the other folks milling around. Razz dropped his voice into a whisper only the two of them could hear.

“I bet the brass made him look scarier to convince people to enlist.”

“Now, the NCR ain’t like that,” O’Hanrahan said. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it with all his heart, only most of it.

Them propaganda posters hadn’t seemed so bad when he joined up—they looked downright patriotic, even—but now, staring at ‘em, he felt uneasy. The darn things had made it up as far as Oregon territory long ago, so long they’d become background noise. Folks put them in shop windows for decoration and to let any wandering raiders know whose side they were on. Heck, before he left home, Hex had even put up one of them up in her bedroom. _Tan His Hide, Ladies!_

At the time, he just thought she liked the gal on it, like her Nuka-Cola pin-ups. But maybe all them months of staring at it had turned her head.

“Yeah,” Razz said after thinking on it. He leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I mean, shit, look at what they say about the Fiends. We were just as rotten as the rumors.”

“Not all of you,” said O’Hanrahan. Razz just looked at him. “ _You_ weren’t.”

“Shit, of course I was.” Razz rolled his eyes. “I’m better _now._ At least I try to be. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t worse _then_.”

“All right, maybe so. But all you needed to set you to rights was a fresh start. Most folks in the world could use one of those, especially folks with bad luck and not a whole lot of options.” He paused, hesitant, and then confessed in a quiet voice, “Like my Ma and Pa, as a for instance.”

“Poindexter’s right, you know. You’d give a Legionary a second chance,” Razz said with a slow blooming smile. “You fucking farmboy.”

O’Hanrahan allowed himself a weak smirk. “Well, _now_ , yes.”

Razz stared at him blankly for a few seconds. Then a laugh burst out of him.

“ _Fucking_ farmboy. Have I mentioned that you’re a total goddamn loser?”

“Once or twice.” O’Hanrahan smiled.

“Good. As long as you know.” He kicked back, balancing his chair on two legs. A recruitment officer passing by the doorway gave him a disapproving look. Razz raised his middle finger in salute, which made the chair come near to toppling over.

“Careful!” O’Hanrahan caught hold of a chair leg to hold it steady.

A sudden, familiar giggle behind him made him lose his grip. The chair clattered and spilled Razz right on the floor. “I done told you he was falling for you, didn’t I?”

“As I recall, all you said was that _I_ was falling.” He helped Razz up, and only then turned to look at his little sister.

He came up short when he saw her. They’d already put her in a uniform. She grinned the same mischievous Hex grin she always had, all freckles and sparkles, but the khaki washed her out. Made her look too grown up. She’d pulled her hair back into a bun, too, and that wasn’t helping none. He was looking at a stranger with his sister’s face.

Tucked under her arm was a duffle, the same kind he’d been handed when they shipped him off to basic. Inside, there would be all the literature for NCR recruits.

O’Hanrahan swallowed hard. It hadn’t quite felt real up ‘til now. He’d even managed to convince himself she’d only been _talking_ to the recruiter (for two hours); while he shouldn’t have been surprised that wasn’t the case, it still felt like a sock in the gut.

The law said that a person had to be fifteen years old to join the NCR with a parent’s permission, or eighteen to join without it. That law wasn’t what they called enforceable, what with so few people having any proof of when they were born, but Bell said it made the politicians look good around voting time. As it was, the army tended to take anyone who _looked_ old enough, so long as they were fit to hold a rifle.

Hex could pass for anywhere between sixteen and twenty-five, depending on how she fixed her face, so there was a better than even chance they would have taken her before her birthday. But in that case, Ma and Pa could have made a formal request to have her sent home, and then she’d be in trouble with the government.

But now there was nothing standing in her way. And the army, well, they sure didn’t dawdle with a war on, did they? O’Hanrahan only had a few days to say goodbye to the family when he himself enlisted, but it’d have been less if it hadn’t been for the travel time to the nearest base. And Hex didn't even have a home around these parts to go back to.

“You’re heading out _now_?” he asked.

“Yep! I have to take the tram to Camp McCarran, and from there I go back West for six weeks of basic training.” She groaned, oblivious to the knot in his stomach. “ _Six weeks,_ Hoss! At this rate, I’ll die of old age before I ever see the fighting.”

Without thinking about it, O’Hanrahan collapsed on his abandoned chair. Razz, still standing, squeezed his shoulder.

“Oh, now, there ain’t no cause to be dramatic,” Hex said, putting her hands on her hips.

“What am I gonna tell Ma and Pa?” he asked, stricken.

“You’re going to tell them I got on a train. You don’t have to mention it ain’t the one going to the Den.”

“Hex—”

“And I’ll tell them the truth in my next letter! That way they’ll hit the roof at me, not you.” Hex shrugged. “I’d have put it in the postcards, but I already sent those.”

Never mind that it’d take a few weeks for even the postcards to reach them, or that she could just mosey over to the postal courier to retrieve and edit them before they went out. “And Bell? You planning to leave her to swinging in the breeze?”

“Oh.” Hex bit her bottom lip. The expression shaved five years off her apparent age and his heart ached. “I ain’t thought about her. I guess I’ll...radio?”

Oh, Lord. He was going to start going gray before his time, and his little cuss of a sister would be why. It’d happened to Pa when she was born, and it would happen to him now that she was grown.

“I’ll call Bell when I get to McCarran and work something out. Don’t you worry none, Hoss.” She flashed him a bright smile like he wasn’t about to drop over from a heart attack right at her feet. “It’ll be all right.”

“It better be,” O’Hanrahan warned, not convinced by her assurances in the least. Knowing her, she’d just plain forget to call with all the excitement, and breaking the news to Bell would fall to him.

“I promise it will.” The duffle hit the floor and she threw her arms out. “Now if you’re going to say goodbye properly, you best get to it. The recruiter ain’t give me but two minutes.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. O’Hanrahan launched himself out of the chair and scooped her into a bone crushing hug. He even swung her around like he hadn’t since she was a kid, and she laughed the sort of laugh that didn’t belong in a straitlaced military setting. He sure hoped it wouldn’t be the last time he’d hear it.

When he set her back on her feet, he said, “You stay out of trouble and show your drill sergeant you got more goin’ for you than a pretty face.” O’Hanrahan tapped her nose and didn’t add _, and a body fit for cannon fodder._

“You know I will. I’ve always been a better shot than you, if nothing else. Can’t wait to get my hands on one of them big army rifles.” She turned to Razz with an expectant smile.

“Anything’s better than that toy you’re packing now,” he said.

“Ain’t you going to wish me luck, too?”

“Why?”

“Ain’t it obvious? To score some points with your fella.”

“Heh, yeah. You’re all right, runt.” He made a fist and tapped his knuckles against her shoulder. “Try not to get shot too bad.”

“—or at all!” O’Hanrahan added, casting a reproachful glance Razz’s way. Given how he shrank away and shuffled his feet, the look must’ve come off harsher than O’Hanrahan meant it to.

“O’Hanrahan, Helen Ann,” a voice called from out in the reception area. One O’Hanrahan picked up her duffle while the other’s stomach dropped out. It hadn’t really been two minutes already, had it?

“Tram must be close,” Hex said. She hugged her brother again, more fierce and urgent on her end this time. It took a lot of effort to force himself to let her go, and when he finally did, she was on her way out the door before he could blink. “Don’t worry!” She shouted back before she disappeared, “Legion’ll never see me comin’, Hoss! Can’t hit what you can’t see!”

And then, with the jog of army boots and the swing of a heavy door, she was gone.

* * *

Dear Ma and Pa,

~~How are~~  
~~I hope this letter finds~~  
~~I took your advice, Pa, and started up a garden patch~~  
~~I reckon there ain’t no easy~~  
~~Helen done joined~~

* * *

O’Hanrahan crumpled up the letter, tossed it on the ground and kicked it savagely enough to make Razz startle. It skittered across the desert sand and came to rest beside a rock.

Three hours out of Vegas, moping and scribbling while they walked back to base, and he still hadn’t figured on how to approach his folks. Even if Hex made good on her promise to tell them herself, he still had to be ready to own up to his part in her joining up. He couldn’t gloss over it and pretend nothing happened next time he wrote to them.

He just didn’t know how to tell them that he’d failed so dang hard to steer her in the right direction. Not that joining the army, in itself, was wrong, but she’d gone about it in the worst way, and not talking her out of it almost made him a party to her deceitful behavior.

But she’d never been one to listen to him. He remembered when she was just a little thing and Ma had made it her chore to bring in water from the well. Hex had screamed her little head off when he’d told her to get a move on. She’d hollered she’d report him for kidnapping when he picked her up and gently carried her to the well, kicked him in the shin when he put her hands on the crank and forced her to turn it, told him she hated him when he closed her fingers around the bucket’s handle, and swore she’d run away from such a brute of a big brother when he dared get mad at her for deliberately dropping the bucket and sloshing water all over him…And somehow, he’d ended up bringing in Ma’s wash water himself. After that first time being such a hassle, he decided to just take on the chore himself, but of course once he gave in, Hex demanded to do it herself.

Good Lord, she was a contrary brat. It wasn’t often she got quite that bad about it, but when the girl didn’t want to do as she was told, she _didn’t_.

“What’s the matter?” Razz asked. “Having trouble spelling pain-in-the-ass?”

“I couldn’t write that to my parents!”

“Why not? I’m sure they know what their own kid is like.”

“Razz...”

“Okay, sorry.” Razz raised his hands in surrender.

“It’s not that she ain’t...difficult, because I know she is. But she’s still a good person, and she’s my sister and I love her. And if anything should happen to her, I don’t know that I could ever forgive myself. Don’t know if my folks would forgive me, either.”  


“I’m glad I never knew my parents, if they fuck you up this bad.”

“You don’t really think I’m— _messed_ up, do you?” O’Hanrahan asked.

“You feel bad about shit that’s not your fault. That’s messed up.”

“Oh, it ain’t like that. And I am responsible for my sister when she’s with me.”

“She’s responsible for herself! Besides, it’s not like she joined a gang or something. It’s the army. They’ll probably just make her a clerk. That or she’ll talk her way to a commission so she can get all the glory with none of the work.”

He did like the sound of that. Privates got killed; lieutenants got medals. Lieutenant O’Hanrahan. Major O’Hanrahan by the end of the war. Someday, Brigadier General O’Hanrahan. Maybe when she was an old woman, Madame Secretary of War O’Hanrahan.

Oh, heck, she didn’t have the education to be an officer.

“They told _me_ they’d make me a clerk,” he confessed. “All but promised me I’d never see combat, and waited until after the swearing-in to tell me I didn’t write good enough for the job they said they’d give me. I still would have joined if they’d been truthful, but I suppose they couldn’t have known that, and they was desperate. They won’t turn away good fighting men, even to the support corps. And Hex, she _wants_ to fight.”

“Yeah, who doesn’t?” Razz asked. Then he shook his head. “Right, _you_ don’t. You’re a lover, not a fighter. Not that you’ll hear me complaining.” He waited for a reaction, but all O’Hanrahan could manage was a weak smile. Even thinking about how Razz was his fella now couldn’t distract him from feeling like he’d swallowed a rock.

With a sigh, Razz snatched the crumpled paper from the ground and the pencil out of his hand.

“Hey! I’m usin’ that!”

“Are you? Could’ve fooled me,” Razz said. “Turn around.”

There didn’t seem much point arguing, so O’Hanrahan did as he was told. He bent forward slightly to make sure there was a flat enough surface for Razz to write on, and waited for the scritch-scratching of the pencil to be done.

“Do you always do everything you’re told?” Razz murmured. O’Hanrahan shrugged, and felt a poke from the pencil warning him to not wriggle. On the whole, Razz was more considerate than Hex, but he could still feel the point threatening to put a hole in his shirt. He went still and waited patiently for Razz to finish.

Even without seeing him, O’Hanrahan could tell Razz’s pencil strokes were quicker and more confident than they’d been when they first started working on letters together. Pride surged up in him at how far Razz had come, from the halting, nervous lines to something more fluid and natural. Why, a few more months practice and he’d be writing as well as anybody who ever had.

He felt a couple of final quick jabs, and then heard the flap of the paper as it was yanked off his back.

“All finis—“ O’Hanrahan yelped in surprise when something fleeting pinched his backside and spun on his heel. “Razz! You rascal!”

“What?” Razz asked. “It was there.”

“It’s _always_ going to be there! Should I expect a pinch every time I turn my back?”

“What, you want me to ask first? O’Hanrahan, may I _please_ touch your—wait, what should I call it?”

“You can call it whatever you want. There’s just one thing I want you to remember.” He reached out and nipped Razz’s backside with his fingers. Razz bit back a yelp of surprise, and O’Hanrahan grinned. “You might be sneakier, but I got longer arms.”

“Asshole.” Razz swatted him playfully with the paper, and then handed it over.

Now it read:

Dear Ma and Pa,

 ~~How are~~  
~~I hope this letter finds~~  
~~I took your advice, Pa, and started up a garden patch~~  
~~I reckon there ain’t no easy~~  
~~Helen done joined~~

hecKs Is IN The aRMY. hoss Is soRRY he KuDDNT sTop heR. he TRYD.

YoR suNs ~~fRIND~~ boYfRIND,

Razz

* * *

Boyfriend. Gosh, he liked that. He liked even more that Razz was ready for his folks to know.

He still felt he ought to write his own letter and properly explain things. But Razz had laid it all out straight.

“Thanks, Razz.”

“Yeah, sure. Will you stop looking so fucking pitiful now?”

“I’ll try,” he said. Razz didn’t look satisfied.

“Need something else to distract you?” He tossed his head to get his face wrap out of the way. “We’re still off base. Are there any more of those fraternization rules we didn’t break yet?”

“Only the ones to do with chain of command. Do you think it’s worth one of us putting in for a commission?”

“Sounds like a lot of work. Maybe we should just go in there—” He jerked his head toward the ruins of a nearby building. “—and see how long it takes us to get through the old ones again.”

* * *

Mags was the only one on guard duty at the front gate when they finally made it back to Camp Golf. O’Hanrahan was sure glad to see her, even with her face looking like a stormcloud.

“You’re late,” she called, when they were close enough for talking. “You’d better have a damn good excuse. Did you find your sister?”

“Sure did! She was in an awful tight spot, but it all came out right in the end. She’s officially enlisted. On her way to basic training as we speak. And I sure am sorry we got back late, but we...uh...”

“O’Hanrahan got his head bashed in by a super mutant,” Razz reported. “Then we found his sister in bed with some shitheel, and we had to get him to a doctor after O’Hanrahan threw him across the room.”

“ _You_ stabbed him,” O’Hanrahan protested.

“Fuck yeah I stabbed him, but I’m not the one who decided we couldn’t let him die of it.”

“Is this for real?” Mags asked.

“What, you don’t believe it? You callin’ us liars?” Razz thought about that and corrected himself, “You callin’ O’Hanrahan a liar?”

“I wouldn’t call you a liar, either. And don’t be a smartass. I’m still your squad leader.”

“Okay, sorry, boss.”

“And just what are you so happy about?” Her gaze flicked back and forth between the two of them, heavy with suspicion. “Is there anything else I need to know before I let you go?”

Oh, mercy, she could _tell_. O’Hanrahan started to answer. He couldn’t lie if he was asked right out.

But he stopped himself. Him and Razz being together wasn’t going to do no harm to no one. It was something just between the two of them. And Mags had already made it clear that she didn’t care what they got up to on their own time, so long as they didn’t make it official and force her to bring army regs into it.

O’Hanrahan didn’t want to get transferred to another squad. And he didn’t want Razz to be rotated out and have to make a whole new group of friends when he didn’t even know how. And, a completely different reason to keep his mouth shut—he didn’t want Razz to be embarrassed if he got soppy about the way he felt.

Would the Lord forgive another little white lie of omission? Before he could make up his mind, Razz reached out and took his hand.

“We’re sparking,” he said, his eyes narrowed in challenge. “That a fuckin’ problem?”

“Oh...” She sounded like she was choking back a laugh. “I don’t know what ‘sparking’ means—don’t explain it, O’Hanrahan, I’ll just forget again—but if I did know, I’d probably say it’s about damn time. You two goofs have been mooning over each other for months.” She let a small chuckle escape. “When you see Poindexter, tell him he owes me twenty caps.”

* * *

“We’re back,” Razz announced. “Mags says you owe her twenty caps.”

Dex sucked a mouthful of spit down his windpipe and collapsed into a coughing fit. O’Hanrahan clapped him on the back until he was breathing normally.

“It seemed like such a smart bet,” Dex finally croaked.

“You made us a subject for gambling?” O’Hanrahan asked. “And bet _against_ us?” He didn’t know why that bothered him when he’d been trying so hard to hide his feelings, but it did.

“No, I knew you’d get together. Any halfwit could see that was in the works. I just didn’t think you’d tell us. If Mags didn’t get it straight from the horse’s mouth, she couldn’t collect. I suppose I should have known better than to discount that persistent streak of O’Hanrahan honesty.”

“Hey, fuck you, Arnold,” said Razz. “ _I_ told her. I’m trying this new thing where I act all morally upright and shit.”

“Oh, then I guess you have a little O’Hanrahan in you after all.”

“Ha! Not anymore.” Razz threw himself across his bunk, snickering. O’Hanrahan set about unloading his rucksack. He even managed not to blush.

“Thanks for packing for us. It was a big help,” he said.

“That’s me. Helpful, dependable old Poindexter.” A slight shadow of unhappiness crossed Poindexter’s face. O'Hanrahan had to figure it had something to do with his lost ladyfriend.

“The fuck’s eating you?” Razz asked, as he started peeling out of his boots so he could scrub three days worth of road dust off them.

“Nothing new,” Poindexter said.

“Oh, like everybody’s making you their errand boy now? Since when are you such a martyr? You did us one fucking favor. I didn’t even ask, you just did it!”

“We’re all friends here,” O’Hanrahan reminded them both, hoping to head off a fight. Razz started to say something argumentative, but Poindexter cut him off.

“You’re right. I apologize.”

“Shit, now I know something’s wrong.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that my problem was with either of you.”

“So there _is_ a problem.” Razz leaned on one elbow, watching Dex through narrowed eyes. “Some jerkass sergeant trying to push you around? That fucking lieutenant or one of his asshole pals blackmailing you into doing their work? Tell me who it is, I’ll help you kick their asses.”

“That won’t be necess—You’d do that?”

“Come on, how much excuse do you think I need to go out and bust some heads?”

Dex looked like he was thinking it over, but then he shook his head.

“You can’t solve every problem by punching it,” he said.

“I know that! What do you think all these knives are for?”

“All right, then I promise if anyone in the NCR does anything of the sort, you’ll be the first to know. But that’s currently not the case.”

Razz looked disappointed, but at least Dex was less unhappy than he had been. O’Hanrahan guessed that ‘good old dependable Poindexter’ was feeling low because he’d chosen a slow, certain way to help the gal he loved, only for someone else to get the glory with a flashy rescue. And to get the gal, besides. Anyone would be bothered by that, even if all he wanted was to be happy she was safe. It'd take some time for that wounded pride and broken heart to heal up.

But O’Hanrahan didn’t now how to talk about that without making things worse. If he up and told the poor fella he _wasn’t_ dependable, it’d make him feel terrible. And if he brought up that Laverne by name, it'd just be jabbing the sort spot.

He decided not to say anything. Instead, he stretched out across his cot with a weary sigh. All the walking they’d done was a bit much even for him.

“Rest while you can,” Dex warned. “You missed evening muster. Mags has _plans_.”

“What plans?” Razz asked.

“She’s going to have you running the obstacle course first thing in the morning.”

“Oh, that ain’t so bad,” O’Hanrahan said, as Razz groaned into his pillow.

“Not so fast, O’Hanrahan. Razz gets the obstacle course. You get the rifle range. She’s _somehow_ gotten the idea that separating the two of you will be the most effective punishment of all.”

* * *

Spending all day on the rifle range with Dex as a supervisor wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened to him. The two of them worked in companionable silence, picking apart the paper targets with a good bit more skill than they’d shown a few months before. They were still far from the best the army had to offer, but things were shaping up.

O’Hanrahan would rather be running, and Razz would rather be shooting, and the two of them would rather be together than not. But that was what made it a punishment, he guessed. Mags couldn’t go too easy on them when they’d technically been AWOL after their passes ran out. But it wasn’t so bad.

When the squad regrouped in the mess hall, Razz was so worn out he had to rest his head against O’Hanrahan’s shoulder. And even when he left behind a Razz-shaped mud splotch, Mags didn’t say a word about it.

O’Hanrahan figured, all in all? Life was still pretty good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, O’Hanrahan, enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts.
> 
> We're running up to the finish line, folks, and the Battle for Hoover Dam. Just four more chapters before we say goodbye to our lovable misfits. Tune in next time for the fan! The shit that hits it! And some foreshadowing that comes home to roost!


	9. ...I, you're the one I idolize...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Advisories** : misogynistic and ableist language, violence/blood, implied sex.
> 
> A few advisories for this chapter are spoilery. Please see the end notes for further details.

Jun. 20, 2282

 ~~Dear Ma,~~  
~~Dear Pa,~~  
~~Dear Orphan Kid,~~  
~~Maybe you can talk to them~~

* * *

O'Hanrahan sat back on his cot, staring at the paper. Razz’s note – _YoR suNs ~~fRIND~~ boYfRIND _ – peeked out beneath his own mangled scribbling. The sight of it was a comfort in what had become a pretty darn hard task _._

Writing home had never been difficult before. Might could be he was having so much trouble because he was distracted. Somebody had a radio going in their tent, and he could hear the velvet rumble of Mr. New Vegas: _…redeployment in the near future. One anonymous soldier said it was part of…_

He let out a long breath. Or, might could be he was struggling because, well. Because, that’s all. There were lots of reasons and they’d all gotten tangled up inside him. Until he undid the knots, he wouldn’t be any use at all. O’Hanrahan folded up the pages and set them aside, ready to go whenever he got up the nerve to finish.

He would put off the writing to his folks a while longer. Not because he felt guilty, mind. Leastaways, not _just_ because he felt guilty, and not because it was hard, either. Thinking these past few days, he realized: Razz had been right. He was used to taking responsibility for things that weren’t his doing, and maybe he ought to learn to stop.

He should still admit to lying and sneaking around behind his folks' backs, but it could wait. It _should_ wait, until he got it into his thick skull that he needn't answer for Hex's grown-up choices. It wouldn't hurt to hold off until he could write a letter without spewing guilt everywhere, neither.

Hex already radioed from basic training someplace out west to tell him everything was fine. Even though his instincts hollered otherwise, he had to learn to trust what she said. It wasn’t his place to come clean with their parents _for_ her; he just had to force himself to believe it.

(He did call Bell, though, to let her know Hex wasn't dead. He couldn’t help himself. When he heard her relief radiating through the speaker, he knew it was the right thing to do. Now she could go back to schooling and reporting instead of worrying herself bald over their baby sister loose in the desert.)

He’d write to Ma and Pa soon. In a day or two, or maybe in a week. In the meantime, things at Camp Golf could get back to normal.

* * *

Poindexter came at him with a yell, knife held high. O’Hanrahan barely had to move to avoid the blow. He twisted sideways, and Dex ran facefirst into his elbow.

“Sorry!”

Dex dropped to his knees, hands clasped over his nose, bright blood already pouring out from between his fingers. The blunted training blade lay forgotten in the dirt.

O’Hanrahan heard Mags call a halt to her own practice session with Razz. She still couldn’t beat him in a knife fight, but more and more, she was making him work for his victory.

She rubbed a small towel over her sweat-drenched hair and then shoved it under Poindexter’s nose.

“Here, bleed on this.”

“Ouch!”

“O’Hanrahan, what the hell happened? This was supposed to be light contact.”

“I didn’t hit him,” he protested.

“What, so he ran into your fist?”

“No! My elbow.”

Razz started to laugh at that, but a look from Mags silenced him.

“As much time as we’ve spent on this, I would have thought _one_ of you would show _some_ improvement.”

“Sorry,” O’Hanrahan mumbled. He knew it was important that they all knew how to fight hand-to-hand in case the enemy ever caught them without their guns, but knife-fighting didn’t make sense to him. Even if it had, he couldn’t bring himself to do more than defend himself, even in practice. And as for Dex, he was plain hopeless at anything physical.

“How are you so bad at this?” Razz asked. “Didn’t you get in fights with the other little vault assholes when you were a kid? Maybe not with knives, but...punching?”

“I’m not a vault dweller. I’m from the Courtyard,” Dex said, his voice muffled by the towel. “The vault citizens wouldn’t sully themselves with contact with _us_. They considered us little better than wastelanders.”

The three wastelanders stared down at him. Dex’s shoulders hunched.

“I, ah...suppose I should rephrase that.”

“Good thinking,” said Mags.

“Yes, well...to answer your question, the other children beat the stuffing out of me on a regular basis.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Mags said under her breath. Dex looked wounded.

“I didn’t deserve _all_ of it. I may have antagonized them occasionally,” he admitted. “But the retribution was entirely out of proportion to the provocation.”

“But didn’t you learn how to fight back?” Razz asked. “What did you _do_?”

“Mostly, I would scream, ‘Not the face, not the face!’ and hope my brother could hear me.” He peeled the towel away from his nose, and grimaced when he saw that he was still bleeding. O’Hanrahan winced in sympathy. He really hadn’t meant to do that.

“So you let your big brother do your fighting for you?” Razz asked.

“Certainly not,” Dex said stiffly. “Laverne was the fighter. Al preferred to talk them down. And he’s my _younger_ brother.”

Mags made a sound that could have been a laugh, but she turned it into a cough instead when she saw Dex start to slump.

“Maybe I’ve been setting the wrong expectations here. As soon as you stop bleeding, we’re going to start working through some basic drills. And as for you...” She turned to O’Hanrahan. “If I pair you up with Razz, will you _try_ to hit him?”

“Yes, ma’am! I’ll do my best. It’s just that...” He made a vague gesture with his practice blade. “It don’t feel right.”

“I know you don’t like it, but this _is_ the army.”

“I don’t mean to say I ain’t willing! It’s just...the knife.” He made a fist. The hilt and at least a quarter of the blade all but disappeared in his hand. “It’s _dinky_.”

Mags raised an eyebrow at that.

“You want something bigger?”

Razz snickered.

“Well, yes,” O’Hanrahan admitted, even as his face colored up some. “But a combat knife’s about as big as they come. It may be I ain’t used to knives, period. When my folks taught me to defend myself, I learned to use Ma's hammer."

"I thought your parents were farmers. Is your mother a carpenter, too?"

"No, not that kind of hammer." He knelt to draw a picture in the dirt.

First he drew Ma, to give the thing a sense of scale. He made sure to give her curly hair and a big smile, and put her favorite apron over her dress. Then he drew her war hammer.

Set on a handle long enough to be a walking stick, the head was big and heavy enough on its flat side to batter down a small army or a large building. The reverse side came to an angled point. It could serve as an ice pick in winter, or it could hook an enemy's arm or leg and pull him off balance. It could also puncture the heaviest armor if you swung it hard enough, but O'Hanrahan had never used it for that.

“What...ah.” Dex cleared his throat as he peered over at the drawing. “What _exactly_ does farming entail up in Oregon?”

“Oh, the usual things,” O’Hanrahan hedged. He started to wipe out the drawing now that everyone had gotten a good look at it. “Plus beatin’ back the raiders. But I s’pose that’s one of them ‘usual—“ He glanced up at Dex, because it was rude not to look at somebody when you spoke to them, and got an eyeful of brilliant color. “Holy smokes!”

The others turned to see what was so alarming. Poindexter’s towel was more blood than not, and his poor nose didn’t seem like it was set to stop running red anytime soon. It was a wonder he hadn’t gone light headed yet.

"You're _still_ bleeding?” Razz asked. “Damn. Why don't you go on to the medic's tent, then? If it's broken, you should get it taken care of as soon as possible, or else you'll never be able to fuckin’ breathe right. I should know."

"Gee, Razz," O'Hanrahan said with a sudden realization, "you never saw a doctor after that green fella busted your nose, did you?"

"There was no point. It's not the first time I broke it."

"Go with Poindexter," Mags ordered. "Maybe there's something they can do for you, too."

"I don't need—“

"Did I ask for an argument? Get the hell out of here!"

Razz said something unfriendly, low enough that she didn't have to let on that she heard, but he offered Dex a hand up and the two of them headed out.

Mags and O’Hanrahan waited long enough for them to disappear from sight, then she turned back to him and dropped into a fighting stance. “Get ready, O’Hanrahan. I’m not going to go easy on you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He barely had time to straighten up and get his knife situated before she ran at him with a roar.

They fought hard for several minutes. O’Hanrahan spent most of the time blocking and dodging instead of what he should have been doing— _hitting_. At least Mags had no problem with that part. She landed more blows on him than he could count, even with how slippery he tried to be.

She sure had learned a lot from working with Razz. Maybe it was because she’d already been skilled at unarmed combat, so it wasn’t like starting from scratch.

The last time O’Hanrahan sparred with her, he’d been able to keep her from landing a single hit. He was quicker than anyone ever expected him to be. But Mags moved faster this time, and she’d learned a few tricks, too.

“You’re supposed to hit me,” she reminded him, as he barely spun away from a slash that would have spilled his guts out if the knives were real.

“I’m waiting for you to leave yourself open.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, her guard got sloppy. He knew she was calling his bluff, so, in a move he could already tell was much too timid, he went for her unprotected flank. She slapped his hand away.

“Dammit, O’Hanrahan, if you don’t hit me in the next thirty seconds, I’m transferring Razz to C-squad.”

“Oh, Mags, _no_ ,” he protested, even though it was probably a bluff.

“We’re way past ‘Oh, Mags, no.’ If you can’t focus on your duties, it’s on me to remove distractions. Twenty seconds.”

He tried to hit her, really tried this time, but she avoided him easily. To make matters worse, her blade caught him across the arm as he dodged.

“Ten seconds!”

In desperation, he lunged at her. Her blade pressed against his throat, a killing blow, but he paid no mind to that. With the momentum behind him it was too late to pay attention to a little thing like being pretend-dead. O’Hanrahan drove into her torso with his shoulder, lifted her clear off the ground with the force of the blow and sent her flying. Wide eyed, she scrabbled at the air before she came down in the sand with a _thud_.

Mags sprawled across the ground, automatically curling her knees against her chest to protect her body from more trauma. Her face was very pale.

“Mags!” O’Hanrahan gasped.

She flashed a thumbs-up, but otherwise didn’t move.

“I’m so sorry! Are you hurt bad?”

“Only—my dignity,” she groaned. “Light contact, O’Hanrahan!”

“This is why I don’t like fighting.”

Mags took a deep breath and moved carefully, testing her limits. Her color was already coming back, so at least he hadn’t killed her. It was only a few seconds before she was sitting up.

“There,” she said brightly. “Nothing to worry about.” There were still signs of strain around her eyes, but she smiled at him anyhow.

“I’m real sorry I ran you down.”

“I’ve been hit harder than that. Not often, mind you.” She moved to stand up, but thought the better of it. “Good news, private. You’ve earned yourself a break.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He must have sounded as miserable as he felt, because a teasing glint came into her eyes.

“So now that you know you can beat up a tiny little woman, do you think you can manage to do the same thing to a strapping Legion soldier?”

“Mags!” He didn’t want to beat up on anyone, not the enemy, and especially not his friend who was also a lady.

If she could tease him, though, she must be all right. And Mags was no lady, as she’d tell anyone who asked. She was a corporal.

“I’ll knock ‘em down if they come at me,” O’Hanrahan said reluctantly. “I’ll still feel bad about it after.”

“I’m not here to tell you how to feel. All I want is for you to be _alive_ after.” He offered her a hand up and she took it, grunting on the way to her feet. “But O’Hanrahan, they’re not all going to go down so easy. When you see combat, you’ll have to stick a knife in one, or shoot one, or blow one up.”

“Shootfire, Mags, I know that, it’s only I don’t like to think on it. I’ll do what needs to be done when it needs doin’, but not before.”

He worked real hard just then not to remember that raider he’d shot, so far in the past now, but still too close for comfort. He worked even harder not to think how he’d have to do it more, once the war came for the Misfits: their hands bloodied by all them Legion bodies stacked up.

O’Hanrahan pushed the images away and replaced them with Razz and laughing with his friends in the mess. And he pushed away what Razz had said, about laughin’ and jokin’ until suddenly there was gunfire and the fella next to him wasn’t a fella no more.

His feelings must have shown on his face, because Mags put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know you’ll do your best. I’ve got faith in that much. But it’s still my job to make sure you know what’s what, and push you to be all you can be.”

“I appreciate that, Mags,” he said, and smiled.

“And by the way, since you obviously can’t tell an empty threat when you hear one—unless you _meant_ to hit me that hard—there’s no way I’d trade Razz, or any of you, to C-Squad.”

“Oh, gosh. I guess I should have figured that. Corporal O’Neill wouldn’t take one of us for one of his.”

“Like I care what he wants,” Mags scoffed. “I’d never let that slime poach from _my_ squad.”

“Doesn’t that warm the cockles of your heart?” came a voice from behind them. They both turned to find Dex and Razz watching them from outside the training ring. Dex had a plaster shield taped over his nose to protect it from further injury while it healed. Razz didn’t have any such thing.

“Cockles?” Razz asked, snickering.

“Yes, cockles,” said Dex. “For a vicious raider type, you certainly have a juvenile sense of humor.”

“Who’s vicious? Compared to _you_ , maybe.”

“Children!” Mags interrupted. “Poindexter, I assume you can’t have anything coming at your face for a while, so you can work with the dummy. And whatever joke you’re about to make, don’t. Speaking of juvenile humor.”

O’Hanrahan had the feeling he was the one she was trying to save from being the butt of the joke. He wouldn’t have been bothered by it, but it was nice of her to care.

“And as for you...” She frowned at Razz. “Couldn’t they do anything for you?”

“I dunno.” He shrugged.

“They recommended surgery,” said Dex. “Razz elected not to—“ He broke off when he realized Razz was giving him a death glare. “What? I said you _chose_ not to. I didn’t say you were _afraid—_ oh damn.” He glanced at his squadmates and offered Razz an uneasy smile. “Sorry?”

“Asshole,” Razz said through gritted teeth. “You’re shit at keeping secrets.”

“Enough! Whether you want it or not, you can’t have surgery right _now_ ,” Mags said, inserting herself between them in case Razz did more than cuss. “We’ve got at least twenty minutes before another squad gets the training ring, and I mean to use them. Razz, you go to work on O’Hanrahan. Poindexter, let’s work on your form.”

She took Dex by the arms and marched him over to the training dummy, leaving Razz and O’Hanrahan to fend for themselves.

“See if you can disarm me,” Razz suggested.

“All right...” That sounded easy enough, and it wouldn’t end with anyone knocked out or gushing blood. He hoped.

They held their knives in the ready position. Then O’Hanrahan tried to move the same way he’d seen Razz do a dozen times before. It didn’t go so great. Razz turned his knife and slashed the inside of O’Hanrahan’s wrist. If it were a real knife, even the leather cuffs of his field jacket wouldn’t be enough to protect him.

“You have to stop being so fucking chickenshit,” Razz snapped. “You’re supposed to take me down _before_ I kill you.”

“I know, I know! Can you show me what to do one more time?”

“Fine. First you take away my weapon.” Moving slow enough for O’Hanrahan to follow, he chopped his knife hilt against O’Hanrahan’s wrist. “Either you do it right and I drop my knife, or you fuck it up and I’m still armed. Either way, you follow through and disable my arm.”

Continuing the same motion, he turned his back to O’Hanrahan and snaked his arm up and then back down, trapping O’Hanrahan’s arm under his. “Then you finish the job.” Completing his turn, he drove his elbow into O’Hanrahan’s ribs, hard enough to get his point across.

“Don’t that put you in a dangerous position?” O’Hanrahan asked. “If the elbow ain’t enough to finish me off, can’t I just grab you?” He wrapped his other arm around Razz to demonstrate. Now Razz’s left arm was pinned, and O’Hanrahan was in a position to pick him up and throw him across the ring, or else squeeze the life out of him.

“I still have a knife,” Razz reminded him. But he had to disengage his hold on O’Hanrahan’s arm to use it. The second O’Hanrahan’s knife hand was free, he struck Razz’s wrist in the same way Razz had struck him, only he did it hard enough to send Razz’s weapon clattering to the ground.

“What knife?”

“That’s fucking hot,” Razz whispered.

“Razz! We’re supposed to be fighting.”

“Really? I thought this was foreplay.”  
  
“Later,” O’Hanrahan promised. And later would come pretty darn soon if he had anything to say about it, but they couldn’t cut training short. “Go on, show me what trick you’d use to get out of this.”

“Okay, fine. It’s an easy one. You already know it. Just break the other guy’s nose.” He threw his head back against O’Hanrahan’s chin. “Fuck, that’s not a nose! Why are you so fucking tall?”

“I did it just to spite you,” O’Hanrahan said.

Razz twisted side-to-side to see where his elbows would land. When that didn’t work out, he tried stomping O’Hanrahan’s instep. He did it carefully, but they could both tell that even at full force it wouldn’t have been enough.

“How are these boots so fucking thick?” Razz complained.

“It’s armor.” He knew army boots weren’t bulletproof, but he had seen one turn a blow from a hatchet once.

Razz kept grumbling, but he’d change his tune once the Legion started flinging spears at his feet.

“Well, anyway, I guess you win,” Razz sighed. “There’s other ways I could get out of this, but I’d have to hurt you for real.” Then he shook his head. “’I’d have to _hurt_ you’? What the fuck have you got me saying, here? You’re turning me into some kind of pu—ugh, softy.”

“It suits you fine,” O’Hanrahan said. He wouldn’t want Razz to change so much that he stopped being pricklesome, but he liked his softer side, too, when he had the chance to see it.

Razz leaned back against him, turning their fighting hold into an embrace nobody else would notice. The next moment, he was all business again.

“The Legion won’t be worried about hurting you. If you get one of them like this, you need to end it before they have the chance.” He moved O’Hanrahan’s free arm to cross his throat. O’Hanrahan settled into the position he was guided to, careful not to apply any pressure. “Perfect. Then you just hold until they pass out. Best thing to do if you’ve lost your knife.”

“Okay,” O’Hanrahan agreed, but he let go as soon as he could.

Once free, Razz picked up his knife again and moved to a ready stance.

“Try again,” he said. “And this time, follow through.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you like I did Poindexter. Really I don’t.”

“I can fuckin’ take it,” Razz said. Then he wiggled his eyebrows over his face wrap to give that phrase a certain dirty flair. “Now, trust me, you can do it.”

He didn’t much want to, but if Razz believed in him, he couldn’t let him down. O’Hanrahan stiffened his resolve and got ready to fight. “All right, Razz.”

* * *

Camp Golf got real sluggish for the rest of June, and stayed that way well into July. But then, most things did in the scorching desert heat. At the height of summer, twenty extra degrees closed around the Mojave like a fist, and every blessed creature had to slow down to stay alive under the weight of it. Even the bugs got lazy about everything but biting.

The last few days of July finally brought Corporal Riley and his wobbly mail cart. It rattled into the tent in the evening, about twenty minutes before O’Hanrahan and Dex were due for guard duty.

Razz didn’t bother to look up from his magazine, since nobody but Ma O’Hanrahan wrote to him anyhow. Dex didn’t look up either; he’d finally stopped looking with sad longing at the cart whenever Riley shambled by.

The corporal handed O’Hanrahan two envelopes and Mags, one. Then he dug around under a stack of packages and pulled out a pretty powder blue one. O’Hanrahan got a whiff of perfume, spicy-sugary instead of the soft and flowery he’d gotten used to.

“Poindexter? Letter for you.”

Three sets of eyes zeroed in on Poindexter like they’d been pulled by magnets.

“Are you...are you sure?” Dex asked. He didn’t look dreamy-sweet like he usually did over them letters; he looked like the corporal was trying to hand him a snake.

“How many Poindexters do you think there are in this outfit?” Riley gave the letter a shake until finally Dex took it.

He held the envelope under his nose, breathing in the unfamiliar perfume, and a furrow of confusion appeared between his eyebrows. O’Hanrahan hoped it was good news that Laverne was writing to him again, but Dex didn’t look like he thought it was.

“Everything okay?” O’Hanrahan asked as Corporal Riley wheeled the mail cart back out of the tent. Dex started to shake his head. Then he shrugged.

“This isn’t her perfume. She only ever wears lilac. I know; I gave it to her.” His face fell as a thought occurred to him. “Maybe Al gave her the...” He sniffed again. “Whatever this is.”

If the girl was sweetening up a letter to her ex with a gift from her new boyfriend, that was awful heartless of her. O’Hanrahan didn’t think Dex would be so stuck on a girl who could be that cruel, but folks could do unexpected things, especially after a break-up.

Mags tore open her own letter and unfolded it with a snap loud enough to get O’Hanrahan’s attention. She raised an eyebrow at him and pointedly turned her back on poor Poindexter. O’Hanrahan took the hint and opened the larger of his two envelopes. Whatever Laverne had to say, Dex would most likely feel better if he could read it without being stared at.

* * *

July I guess

Dear Hoss,

Boot camp is fine. Working hard. Drill ~~Sear~~   ~~Serg~~  Sarjint Strangle yells a lot but we have come to a understanding. I go up in front of the more dellakit new recroots and carry on like great aunt Hilde use to do, you know KILL KILL and all that, and then Sarj says that’s what kind of soldier she’s gonna make them into. Scares em so bad they work twice as hard as any other company on base. They’re afraid of me and Sarj, and they ought to be. She used to be a raider. Between us we will eat the slackers.

Maybe I will be a drill sarjint one day. If I don’t become a snipper instead. Did I tell you I met first recon? When I git back to the mohavvy in a few weeks I am gonna look up that Corprel Betsy. She’s swell.

By the way I forgot to call Bell at first and now she ain’t answering. Can you talk to her for me? She wouldn’t give her favrit brother the silent treatment.

Love, Hex

* * *

Gee, NCR mail sure moved quick between bases. O’Hanrahan handed Hex’s letter across to Razz to give him something to occupy himself. Now he had to go bother that fella with the radio again so he could make sure Bell wasn’t in any extra trouble over what their sister had done. Somehow, he couldn’t even bring himself to be surprised Hex had forgot to call.

Maybe the other letter would be better news.

* * *

deer cussin I am cumin ta vissit ant may sez I got ta git cussin hex I am bringin sum frindes

see ya sune

luff sven

* * *

“Oh, Lord,” O’Hanrahan sighed. “Ma got Hex’s postcard, and she’s got her kin involved.”

“Are we about to be invaded by a gang of O’Hanrahans?” Mags asked from over her own letter. She wasn’t taking it seriously, but then, she didn’t know any better.

“Worse. Vikings.”

O’Hanrahan tried to calculate how long it would take his cousin to traipse on down all the way from Big Sky. If he said he was bringing friends, that probably meant a raiding party. That meant they wouldn’t have to take the slow path through safe territory. Wouldn’t nothing dare try to stop them. Most likely, Sven would arrive right on the heels of his letter.

Oh, this was all his fault. Or maybe not all, but at least some. When O’Hanrahan radioed Bell to tell her Hex wasn’t corpse-ing up a sinkhole someplace, he knew she’d pass the information on to Pa. What he _hadn’t_ considered was that Pa kept her disappearance from Ma, and Hex’s postcards would blow that secret wide open.

Ma must have been mighty steamed to learn everyone lied to her, as was her right. If O’Hanrahan had come clean in a letter before now, and explained things properly about Hex and the army and Vegas and all that, she’d have still been plenty upset. But she’d have seen reason, and never would have called down a posse to come retrieve her wayward daughter. Now she had no reason to believe it if Pa or Bell or even he said Hex was all right.

“Well, at least Ma ain’t coming in person,” O’Hanrahan said to himself. At least, he hoped she wasn’t coming with them. Heck if that wouldn’t be the most embarrassing thing she’d ever done.

He looked at Dex, expecting some smart-alecky comment, but the poor fella paid no mind to him or much of anything else. He stared at the perfumed papers in his hands like they were see-through.

“Everything all right, Dex?” O’Hanrahan asked. With a start, Poindexter looked up at him, wild-eyed.

“Yes. Er...” He straightened his spectacles and pushed them farther up his nose. “Yes. Fine.” Nothing about him _seemed_ fine, but O’Hanrahan chose not to press. “They’re, ah, getting married. Mid-August. My—my brother, that is, not the month. And Laverne. I mean, _obviously_ Laverne, not some other… Is it suddenly very hot in here?” Dex tugged at his uniform collar. “I feel like it’s hot in here.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Razz breathed. “She’s _marrying_ the guy? It’s been like two months! Are you sure I can’t call her names?”

“Never!” Dex glared at Razz, quite severely, and color rose in his face. He folded his letter, though it wound up more crumpled than flat, and shoved it back in the envelope. “I would rather not discuss this matter any further, if you please.”

“Maybe you should get some air,” Mags suggested.

“Maybe you should drink yourself stupid again,” Razz countered.

“Razz,” Mags said, “you can’t solve all your problems by drinking.”

“Oh, so first it’s, ‘Razz, you can’t punch your problems into submission,’ now it’s, ‘Razz, you can’t drink your feelings away.’ How _do_ you assholes deal with this shit?”

“Air,” said Dex. “I’ll get some air.”

“I’ll come with you,” O’Hanrahan offered. They’d have to be at their post in a few minutes, anyway. Might as well get a head start. He didn’t think Dex would be much use for guard duty, but all he really had to do was sit there. O’Hanrahan could give him some peace and quiet so’s he could collect himself, and maybe come morning he’d have a better handle on things.

O’Hanrahan picked up his usual guard duty kit of weapons, a magazine, pencil and paper, and a box of Fancy Lads to snack on. Dex picked up his sidearm, and had to grip it tight to stop his hands from shaking. He shoved it into its holster where it belonged. The letter went into his pocket. He didn’t think to bring anything else.

Once outside, O’Hanrahan stopped Dex with a hand on his shoulder.

“If you feel like talking, I’ll listen,” he said. “But you don’t have to.”

“Thank you,” said Dex.

They both knew he wasn’t ready to pour his heart out. But maybe sometime he would be.

* * *

While O’Hanrahan kept watch, Dex read and re-read his letter until the sun dipped below the horizon. When there was nothing but starlight to read by, he folded it into the smallest square he could and rolled it between his fingers. Then he smoothed it flat again. Then he proceeded to shred it into perfectly even strips.

Then he tore the strips in half, one by one.

O’Hanrahan wondered about that. All of Laverne’s letters, even that ‘Dear John’ letter in pieces, were resting in Dex’s footlocker, tied together with a yellow ribbon. Everything of hers was worth saving, even the letter that put an end to their love affair, but not this one. Now, O’Hanrahan supposed, this was the thing that finally broke his heart.

Dex scattered powder blue confetti at their feet and laid his pistol across his lap, pulling his sleeve down past his wrist so he could use it to shine the barrel. Then he paused and raised his fingers to his nose, breathing in the last traces of that spicy perfume. His breath hissed between his teeth. Then he went back to his gun.

While he busied himself with that, O’Hanrahan set about writing that long-overdue confessional to Ma. He didn’t enjoy it none, and it seemed much too little far too late now that Sven and them were on their way, but it had to be done. He looked up every minute or two, to make sure no army sprang up out of the desert in front of them, but night watch offered no excitement.

With the usual interruptions, he wasn’t through writing to Ma until a full hour later. He glanced at Dex and caught him brooding in a way that said he didn't want to be caught. His eyes bounced to the remains of his letter and back up again; Poindexter was doing his best to stay on guard like a good army man, but he couldn’t quite shake the heartache.

“You want some paper?” O’Hanrahan finally asked in the silence.

Dex looked up at him, blinking like he’d forgotten who was there. “I beg your pardon?”

O’Hanrahan nodded at the bits of blue at their feet that the wind hadn’t picked up. “Oh, I just figured you might like to write a reply. Reckon it’s better than moping, right?”

Something unkind twisted in Dex’s expression, and it looked like he’d say something to that effect, but the flash of meanness dropped as soon as it appeared. “I suppose.”

O’Hanrahan’s magazine and the three clean, smooth pages on top of it changed hands. Dex didn’t need but one, so he tucked the others under the _Lad’s Life_ cover. He neglected to keep it close to his chest, too. Seemed he didn’t care one way or another if O’Hanrahan saw what he wrote.

Still, he tried his hardest _not_ to snoop, even though it was impossible. Dex scrawled one line as soon as the pencil was in his hand, right in O’Hanrahan’s line of sight before he could even look away.

 _Congratulations. I’ll see you soon._ was all he wrote, and then what might have been a number or a name. He folded the paper up, tucked it in his pocket, and handed the magazine back. “That’s the end of that.”

O’Hanrahan stared out at the desert, careful not to notice the pained look on Poindexter’s face. “You going to the wedding, then?”

“Why not?” He tried to laugh, but couldn’t quite make it. “I’ve got leave coming.”

“You got enough to make it all the way up to Vault City and back?”

“Mm? Oh, no. Of course not.” A weak smile curled Dex’s upper lip. “They’re coming down so we might rendezvous. Thoughtful, isn’t it? A Vegas wedding for my benefit. They’ve even let me pick the place to meet. All the better to accommodate a busy, busy soldier.”

It was a real bitter thing to say, but O’Hanrahan couldn’t fault him for it. Not when the wound’s reopening was so fresh. He tried to focus on the positives. “They must still love you very much.”

Dex shook his head, and darn if that wasn’t one of the saddest things O’Hanrahan had ever seen. “Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

“If you say so, Dex.”

They sat quiet for a time. Long enough for the sky to change colors and the stars to move, but not so long that somebody came along to relieve them.

“You’re all right, O’Hanrahan,” Dex said at last, once the moon peeped out from behind some clouds. “I know on occasion I’ve been…difficult. Particularly in certain hasty judgments about your...”

“Smarts?”

“That...is a kinder way of putting it, yes. My point is: in spite of being a Pollyanna, you’re all right.“

“Thanks, Dex.” O’Hanrahan smiled. “I try to be.”

“I’d venture to say I might even miss you when I’m gone.” He coughed, to force some of the raw emotion out of his voice. “To the wedding, I mean. Perhaps a fellow could use a Pollyanna when facing down his demons.”

“Shucks, Dex, would you like me to come along? I got plenty of leave stored up. I’d be glad to be your moral support. And I bet Razz wouldn’t mind tagging along to provide support of a more, ah, physical nature. If you need it.”

Dex stared at him, moonlight reflecting off his glasses so O’Hanrahan couldn’t read his expression. He started to speak, stopped—started to speak again—then he sighed in defeat.

“I realize I’m no nuptial expert,” Dex said, “but I’m relatively certain the ceremony doesn’t go, ‘You may now punch the bride.’ No, I appreciate the offer, but this is something I should do alone.”

“All right, if that’s how you feel. I suppose at least this’ll give y’all a chance to settle things between you.”

“Yes.” Dex turned back to the horizon looking distant, with the skin at the corners of his eyes pinched. “If nothing else, yes, it will.”

* * *

When they returned to the tent after their shift was up, Dex went straight to bed. He wasn’t petulant or angry, or even sad, really. More resigned to what life had laid on him.

O’Hanrahan stayed up for a bit, looking at Razz, who was little more than a lump of blankets in the darkness. A peculiarly restless lump that kept alternating snoring and swearing.

That kind of thing ought not to have put such a bubble of affection in O’Hanrahan’s chest. But it did, because it was Razz, and it was just part of who he was.

It almost didn’t seem fair that O’Hanrahan should be so happy when poor Dex’s life was spiraling so hard in the opposite direction. But the Lord gave each man a measure of both joy and sorrow. O’Hanrahan wasn’t going to complain if it was his turn for the joy.

* * *

They all woke at first light, but Mags went to Dex’s bunk and spoke to him quietly; with a grateful nod, he burrowed back under the covers.

“It’s just because you pulled night watch,” she said, loud enough for the others to hear. “You’ll be back on regular duty tomorrow.”

But when the three of them got outside the tent, she stopped O’Hanrahan to ask, “Is he okay?”

“Reckon he will be. It might take some time, but it looks like he’s taking it pretty good.”

“A little _too_ good, if you ask me,” Razz grumbled. “I don’t trust people who act like they’re fine when they’re not. You can never tell when the meltdown’s coming.”

O’Hanrahan wasn’t sure about that. Yes, Dex was keeping a lid on things, but that was his way, like fighting was Razz’s way, and thinking good thoughts was O’Hanrahan’s. Dex liked everyone to see that he had things under control, but just because he might bury some of his messier feelings, that didn’t mean he was sitting on so much he was going to explode.

But even if he did, at least he had friends around to pick up the pieces.

* * *

Razz and O’Hanrahan split off from Mags to go for their usual morning run while she boxed with Private Hertzler of C-Squad. Without Dex along, they could set a brisk pace that would get their blood pumping. And they could work on some spelling while they were at it.

“Red.”

“R-E-D,” Razz answered without hesitation. “Come on, are you just fucking around today or what?”

“All right, then. Yellow.”

“Y-E-L-L-O.” When O’Hanrahan didn’t confirm it, he guessed, “H?”

“W.”

“That’s a crock of shit!” He laughed. “Fucking W. Give me another one.”

“Blue.”

“B-L—um, O?” He shrugged. “Fucking W?”

“That’s blow.”

“ _Really_? Well, at least I learned something I can use.”

“In case you need to write me a dirty letter, you mean?” O’Hanrahan suggested. He tried not to be embarrassed about saying such a thing. He failed, but it must not have been too bad, because Razz sure perked up.

“We can do that? Shit, that’s the kind of ‘See Dick’ I can get behind.”

“I suppose we could, but there ain’t no real reason to. We live together. That’s more for folks real far away from each other.”

Razz’s steps slowed as they approached the edge of the lake. O’Hanrahan matched his pace.

“You think they’d ever station us on opposite sides of the NCR so we’d have to write to each other?” Razz asked.

“I can’t say they wouldn’t, but I hope it don’t come to pass. It would be nice to trade letters, though.”

“Sure, until one of them was a Dear John.”

O’Hanrahan stopped. Razz went on a few more steps before he, too, came to a halt. He stood looking at the water, his back to O’Hanrahan.

“Are you thinking about breaking up?” O’Hanrahan asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“No!” Razz turned to him with that particular look O’Hanrahan had come to know in him, that pre-fight bristling that wasn’t even about being angry, it just happened to look like it because getting mad was easier than something else.

“I don’t want to, either,” O’Hanrahan said, before there could be any misunderstandings.

“Right,” Razz said after a moment’s hesitation. “Of course not. You’re not an asshole.” He shook his head. “I just don’t want to end up sulking around like Poindexter,” he admitted.

“Well, you ain’t seeing Laverne.” He didn’t want to judge the gal too harshly, knowing all the troubles in her life, but he liked to think he would have found a better way to go about things if he’d been in her position.

“Thank fuck I’m not seeing Laverne! If the bitch sprang this shit on _me_ with no fucking warning—wait, am I allowed to call her a bitch when Poindexter’s not around?”

“I’d rather you didn’t, but if you have to, I won’t tell Dex.”

“Well, I guess I don’t _have_ to.” He fidgeted, looking uncertain. “I think...I have to say something. And it’s dumb as hell, so don’t laugh.”

“Of course I won’t laugh. What is it?”

“I’m...happy?” He probably didn’t mean it as a question, but that’s how it came out.

“That’s good. I’m happy, too.”

“Sure, but everything makes _you_ happy. You get happy thinking about puppies.”

“Let me put it to you this way: you make me happier than puppies ever could.”

“Jesus, you’re too good to be true. I don’t even know why you would say that. I’m not better than puppies. Puppies are all cute and shit. I’ve never even been _nice_ to you, but you were trying to be my friend from the day we met, and now we’re together, and I’m not saying I don’t like it, but I don’t _get_ it.”

“I’m sure you would be nice, if you were that kind of a person.” He winced as Razz’s expression darkened. That had sounded a lot better in his head.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Oh, mercy. He tried to think how to say what he meant without it turning into another roundabout insult.

“Listen, the Good Book says—” Razz groaned, but O’Hanrahan kept going. “If you have yourself a candle, you ought not to put a bucket over it and hide the light.” The right words for that passage were a lot fancier, but he couldn’t recollect how they went. Razz wasn’t likely to know the difference, anyhow. “The thing is, sometimes it ain’t safe to leave a candle out in the open, if the wind’s like to blow it out, or if you’re hiding from raiders, or some such. That don’t make you bad. It just means you’re careful.”

Razz stared at him, thoughtfully, like he was trying to get the idea but he couldn’t quite.

“Are you calling me a candle?”

“Well, now, I suppose I am. You’re a candle that would have got blowed out by the wind if you hadn’t covered up. That ain’t your fault, and you’ve still got the light inside.”

“That...sounds like bullshit. But I kind of like it.” He turned toward the lake again, arms crossed tight against his body, and said in a rush, “You make me want to give a shit about things that never mattered before, and act right all the time and be like you think I am. You’re the first person who ever treated me like I could be as good as you, and it’s fucking weird that you think that, but I can try. I can be a candle.”

“Razz, you know, you’re worth every bit as much as anybody else, and even more than some.” He stepped forward to put his arm around Razz, not sure if it would be welcome, but Razz relaxed and moved closer to him.

“You’re the only one who thinks so. But that’s fine. You’re the only one that matters.” He shuddered, disgusted by his own vulnerability in a way that was only partly exaggerated. “That was even lamer than I thought it would be.”

“It ain’t so bad as all that, Razz.”

“Yeah, well...” He half-turned, his wrap slipping down so O’Hanrahan could see his mouth when he spoke. “There’s gotta be some way to salvage this stupid feelings and talking shit.”

“Like what?”

Razz grinned. He gestured to the lake, the expanse of desert, and the army base off in the distance.

“We’re all alone out here, and they won’t expect us back for at least an hour. So let me put it to you this way—” Razz kissed him, as abrupt and as welcome as ever. Then he pulled away. “Get the idea?”

O’Hanrahan grinned back and snagged him by the collar. “I think I got the gist.”

* * *

A week rolled by. Two. Life at Camp Golf picked up the pace, and days filled with more drills, more practice, more falling into bed at night with no energy left to spare. Things were still a mite more relaxed than O’Hanrahan figured they’d be on other bases, but every-other-day PT became every day, and some of the fellas started whispering about the brass gearing up to order a bug out.

O’Hanrahan didn’t know much about it, truth be told. And even if he had, a Private had no say in whether they would or wouldn’t pick up and leave, so he tried not to dwell on it. A bug out might mean anything, not necessarily heading to the front lines. It could be organizing refugee camps, or helping folks evacuate, or even moving out to a better facility. There was no sense worrying until there was something concrete to worry about. Concrete, like Hoover Dam.

Dex took to the changes with less enthusiasm than usual, like he didn’t care if he took a Legion spear to the heart or not. As the wedding date approached, he packed the empty hours with whatever he could to keep from thinking too much. He spent his down time writing letters—more than he’d ever written before, by O’Hanrahan’s accounting. He even got stir-crazy enough to clear his footlocker of all the junk he didn't need and gave the stuff away.

When he ran out of things to do, and couldn’t annoy the cook into giving him one more hour of KP duty, he started sleeping a lot. Sleeping, O'Hanrahan had to figure, was heaps better than thinking.

Like today. Today he was out cold, or trying to be. It was a rare off day in the recent frenzy of activity, so that seemed fine. Anyhow, there was just a week standing between Dex and the wedding day. No wonder he lay in his cot, staring at nothing, wrapped in too many blankets for the heat. O’Hanrahan got him a bottle of water, which he set down next to the bed, and then left him alone because it seemed like the kindest thing to do.

Eventually, Razz came in from a shower. He scrubbed at his hair with a towel—flat and floppy without its Wonder Glue in it—and squinted at the lump on Poindexter’s side of the tent. “What are you moping around for this time, Clive?”

“Is that even a name?” Dex asked listlessly.

“I don’t know. Sounds like it could be. I’m running out of names by now.”

“You already guessed it,” said Dex.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Now I have to start over?” Razz let the towel fall to his shoulders and strode over to Poindexter’s bunk, looking irritated. “Fuck, what was my first guess? Marvin?”

“Melvin.”

“It’s _Melvin_?”

“No.” He rolled over, taking the blanket with him to turn himself into a cocoon.

“Now I have to get a fuckin’ piece of paper and write down all my fuckin’ guesses all over again. I can't even spell half of them!”

Dex’s voice came out muffled. “I apologize for misleading you.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me you lied _now_?” Razz asked.

The blanket cocoon moved in what might have been a shrug.

Before Razz could press further, Corporal Riley bustled in with his mail cart.

“Letter for Mags, letter for O’Hanrahan, package for Razz. Sorry, Poindexter. Yours must be running late.”

“Feh!” The blanket cocoon didn’t move.

“He means thank you,” said O’Hanrahan. Poor Riley didn’t know why Dex would be upset at the reminder. He didn’t deserve ire for doing his job to the best of his ability.

After the corporal left, Razz started to pry the twine off his package. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he used it to swat the general area where Dex’s head appeared to be.

“Wake up, dingus.”

“No.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re a sad sack today!” He thumped Dex’s head again. Dex peeled back the blanket enough to glare at him.

“What?”

“While we’re confessing things, I thought you should know I misled you, too. Razz is short for something.” He thumped Dex’s head one more time for good measure, but it was a friendly sort of thump. “My mom named me Erasmus.”

“ _Erasmus_? Really?”

“ _No_ , dipshit, I’m trying to make you feel better. Is it working?”

“Perhaps, without _quite_ so much hitting...”

Razz swatted him again, still friendlier than if he meant to hurt him. More like a brother annoying another brother. “Yeah well, fuck you, assface. This.“ Swat. “Is. ” Swat. “For.” Swat. “Lying.” Swat. “You’ll take your knocks and like ‘em, Clarence.”

“It’s not Clarence!” Dex smiled in spite of himself, so even if it wasn’t quite the method O’Hanrahan would have used, it seemed like Razz was onto something. He left them to it.

* * *

DEAR SON!

IT IS PA! HOW ARE YOU! I AM FINE! MA IS NOT! SHES SO MAD SHES RIGHT BUFFALOED! BUT DONT YOU WORRY NONE! ITLL BLOW OVER! IFN IT DONT JUST BURY ME IN THE APPLE ORCHARD! YOU KNOW THE TREE!

BE GOOD!

PA!

PS! HOW IS YOUR GARDEN!

* * *

O’Hanrahan stifled a wholly inappropriate chuckle for the context. Pa never quite mastered knowing when to forgo the usual “I’m fine, how are you” pleasantries, nor did he ever get the hang of punctuation. It took Ma years to break him of the habit of always using exclamation points because he liked the look of them, but it finally sank in that they were for getting special feelings across, like excitement or fear or yelling.

Now, he'd decided writing about an angry Ma O’Hanrahan required them. His son could hardly argue the logic.

By the time O’Hanrahan finished his letter, Dex was sitting up. Razz had bullied him out of the cocoon, but he didn’t look too upset about it. That was a good sign. It was near about dinner time, and he’d probably feel better if he got some food in him. Maybe now, he could be convinced to leave the tent.

O’Hanrahan got ready to say something about it, but before he could, the tent flap twitched and Corporal Riley poked his head inside.

“O’Hanrahan? Uh. Sorry. Another letter for you. Guess it stuck to the bottom of the box.” Corporal Riley had a funny look on his face, and when O’Hanrahan took the letter, he saw why. It hadn’t exactly traveled very far. It was addressed:

 **pvT hOss OhaNRahaN**  
**CaMp GOLf**  
**MY TeNT**

He glanced over at Razz, who had finally opened his package—another one from Ma—and was pelting Poindexter with the new socks he’d found inside. He paused to look at O’Hanrahan, entirely too pleased with himself.

O’Hanrahan opened the letter and started to read, and almost immediately felt himself turn red. It wasn’t the kind of letter he’d ever be able to let anyone else read. Not that there were many words, but the drawings more than made up for that. Gosh, he never would have guessed that Razz was so artistic.

* * *

The day Dex’s three day pass was set to start dawned bright and clear and hot as the training grounds for down below. O’Hanrahan knew for sure because Mags hustled him and Razz out of bed before the sun was even up.

“Maneuvers. All squads. _All day,_ ” was all she said, while he blinked himself awake and Razz rolled off his cot in nothing but his undershorts. They didn’t even get the chance to wish Poindexter luck or say goodbye or nothing like that. But, there was no helping it.

By the end of the day, even O’Hanrahan was fixing to drop. Maneuvers took place around the lake to keep the soldiers from keeling over dead in the heat, so at least they weren’t dehydrated all to heck. But he was sweaty and tired and gross and wanted to strip down and not move for awhile. Mags demanded a cool shower to soothe her sunburn, which meant waiting in line for Lord knew how long with everyone else who wanted one too.

Showers were nice and all, but Razz agreed it was too much trouble to bother with when they could be horizontal and half-naked sooner rather than later. And for once that was a statement of fact, not a line. Even Razz was too pooped to flirt.

When Razz said half-naked, he meant it. He was down to shorts and a t-shirt before O’Hanrahan could do more than peel off his field jacket. He tossed that onto the bed without looking what he was doing; Razz was awful distracting over there, the way he was bending over to dig under his bed for a beer. O’Hanrahan briefly considered how much fooling around they could do before Mags got back, but he didn’t have the energy to do more than look.

He tried to kick his boots off without untying the laces, found he couldn’t do it, gave up, and flopped across his bunk instead. Something underneath him crackled.

O’Hanrahan rolled aside, pulling up his discarded jacket to reveal a few pieces of paper someone had placed neatly on his bed.

“Say, Razz, looks like Dex left us a note.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s it say?”

“’To my squadmates, O’Hanrahan and Erasmus...’”

“I never should have fucking told him that! Here, hand it over. I’ll read it.”

“Sure.” O’Hanrahan let him have it and lay back, trying to think cool thoughts. Summer couldn’t go on forever, could it?

Razz took a swig of his beer before he read, “’You were correct in your...ass...’” He chuckled briefly. “Your...asses-mint?”

“Assessment,” O’Hanrahan corrected absently.

“Oh, great. ‘You were correct in your assessment.’ The pretentious dickwad can’t just say ‘you were right.’ Or—wait, is ‘right’ the one with all the Gs and Hs that don’t make any goddamn sense?” He shook his head in disgust. “Never mind, this way is fine. So, ‘You were correct in your assessment. I...am a bad...’ Oh, _fuck_ ,” he said in an entirely different tone of voice that banished all the good thoughts from O’Hanrahan’s mind. Razz looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

“What is it?” O’Hanrahan asked, already reaching for the letter. Razz could read it fine, but O’Hanrahan could read it faster. But Razz didn’t hand it over yet.

“Is there a thing called a ‘spee’ that I don’t know about?” he asked, with a look in his eyes that said he expected to be disappointed.

“Not that I know...” The meaning behind the question hit him like a sledgehammer. “Oh, _Lord_.”

“Yeah.” Razz turned the letter so they could both look at it.

And as much as O’Hanrahan wanted to believe that he’d misunderstood, he couldn’t deny what he saw with his own two eyes.

_I am a bad spy._

* * *

_You were correct in your assessment. I am a bad spy._

_I would not presume to offer an apology for my deception; it would be meaningless and insulting. The grisly details of my betrayal are unnecessary and, I assume, unwanted. To provide them would be of no benefit to you and serve only to salve my own guilt. To make this easier on you, I will remain brief._

_I entered the military with noble intentions, only to discover Laverne’s “employer” is Legion connected. Upon learning of my enlistment, he sought to use me for his own ends. Given her precarious position, I had no choice but to comply. I have reluctantly passed information to him through her – intel of minimal use to the Legion’s war effort, but enough to keep him satisfied and see me executed for treason if discovered. At the time, I considered it a worthwhile sacrifice to keep her safe._

_Laverne is free now, spirited away by my brother. You have, I realize, no reason to believe this to be true, but if you trust nothing else borne of our acquaintance, trust this. With her freedom secured, I am at loose ends. My life is still forfeit, but now without purpose. I attempted cessation of my coded letters once she escaped, but this was naive. My “contact” retains all our previous correspondence and has recently made it clear he has no intention of releasing me from our “agreement .” Ever._

_He has jerked the leash and demanded to meet, dangling his evidence against me as bait. I am not at liberty to divulge more. Know only that I do not expect to walk away from the encounter, and have accepted this. It is not the ending I wanted, but it is undeniably the one I deserve. At least it will be over._

_It has been, if not an honor to know you all, then at least...inoffensive. I would not dare call myself your friend, though I may wish it were so. On numerous occasions, I have considered bringing you into my confidence, but thought the better of it. It is to your credit that I believed you might take pity on my dilemma, and to my shame that I ever entertained the idea of endangering you._

_Please share as many of these details with Mags as she wishes to know. I realize that duty may compel her, or perhaps all three of you, to expose my treasonous acts, but ultimately I can do no less than to place my faith in all of you. You deserved to know the truth._

_Goodbye._

_Dexter Poindexter Jr._

_P.S. Burn this letter. Deny all knowledge. My fate is sealed. Yours need not be._

* * *

O’Hanrahan remembered to breathe again only once he got to the end of the page. If this was Poindexter’s idea of easy and brief, he’d hate to see what difficult and drawn-out looked like. He thought on that a minute while Razz mouthed along as he read.

It took Razz longer than O’Hanrahan to finish, and he had trouble with a few of the words, but when he reached the end he hollered, “That stupid fucking asshole!”

“I can’t believe—“ O’Hanrahan dropped his voice down to a whisper. “A _spy_ , right under our noses.”

“Why not? Isn’t that where you’re supposed to keep them?” Razz fished around in his pocket for a lighter. “Stupid fucking bastard!”

The lighter sprang to life and caught one corner of the paper in its flame before O’Hanrahan could protest. He scrambled to grab one of them steel collapsible cups the army gave them for travel, so Razz would have somewhere to put the letter while it smoldered.

Razz chugged the rest of his beer while O’Hanrahan watched the paper burn.

Thinking on it, he still couldn’t quite believe what it said. But...

It did explain why Dex refused to say a bad word about his gal or his brother. And why he never denied being a spy in that technical way that clever folks used to keep their secrets. Come to think of it, the _same_ way he never denied being a Dexter. Oh, golly, maybe even warning O’Hanrahan not to be so trusting had something to do with it, too.

Shoot, the signs were there. Maybe not done up in neon, but visible to somebody who looked. The trouble was, he and Razz had been too preoccupied keeping their own secret to notice.

“So are we going to go save his boneheaded ass or not?” Razz asked, already scrambling back into his clothes.

“If we bring him back and the higher-ups find out about this, he’ll get the firing squad, or a hanging.”

“So we don’t let them find out. _Obviously_ we’ll have to do some covering-up.” He hopped sideways, tugging his pants up while he thrust one arm through an inside-out sleeve.

“We might not do it good enough, Razz. And if they find out about _that_ , we’ll get the same treatment.”

“That’s _really_ going to stop you?” Razz said doubtfully.

“Well, we also ain’t got no idea where he is, Razz—Or...no, wait!” O’Hanrahan clambered up off the cot and went to his footlocker. After rifling around some, he came out with a Lad’s Life with two pieces of paper tucked inside. Next he grabbed a pencil and pulled the pages out. He angled the sharpened end sideways and scrubbed it over the top one with a light touch.

White indentations emerged in the field of graphite. _Congratulations. I’ll see you soon_.

And under that, a location.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Spoilery Advisories** : manipulation, depression/self destructive tendencies


End file.
